Till Death Do Us Part
by Kristine Thorne
Summary: This is the sequel to A Question of Guilt. Cross over including Judge John Deed, Bad Girls, Holby City, and Kay Scarpetta. Contains scenes that some may find disturbing, plus scenes of a lesbian sexual nature. Complete!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All characters within belong to either Shed Productions, The BBc, or Patricia Cornwell. 

A/N: This is the sequel to A Question of Guilt. 

Till Death do Us Part

Part One

As the cattle truck rumbled its way along the busy London streets, Barbara clung to any handhold she could find. She had a feeling of deja vu, being noisily hurtled from the magistrates' court to god knows where. The only part of Barbara that was capable of forming any kind of coherent thought, was alternating between wishing she were dead, and praying that she wouldn't end up back at Larkhall. Oh, to be taken away from her current bone-shaking environment, to be transported to wherever Henry was now. He would be at peace now, going through no more heartache, but most of all, feeling no pain. What on earth would he think of her if he could see her now, being carried back to prison with the likes of Michelle Dockley and Tessa Spall? No, no, she mustn't start thinking about that. If she did, if she dwelt too closely on the practical elements of her predicament, she would go mad, just like last time. That was one little bonus, she thought cynically, at least she knew vaguely what to expect this time round. 

Nikki and Karen arrived at work, at roughly the same time on the Tuesday morning, Karen catching Nikki up as she was being given her keys. Neither of them had slept particularly well on the Monday night, with Nikki worrying about Barbara, and Karen dreading everything from the way John would be with her the next time she saw him, to the physical punishment that she knew the morning after pill would give her. "You look a bit rough," Said Nikki in greeting, as Karen took her keys from Ken. "Are you all right?" "I believe its punishment for my excesses of the weekend," Karen answered bleakly, as Nikki let them through the first set of gates. "But you didn't drink anywhere near as much as me and Helen did," Nikki replied, looking a little nonplussed. "In fact, you and the judge disappeared quite early on the Sunday night." Nikki stopped, as if only just realising what she'd said. "Exactly," Karen told her with a lop-sided smile, but Nikki still didn't seem to understand. "As you are entirely gay, Nikki, you will never have to take the morning after pill," Karen tried to explain. "Something for which you should be unendingly grateful." "Oh, I see," Nikki said in dawning comprehension. "Sorry, the old brain's obviously not quite woken up yet." To change the subject, Karen raised the matter of Barbara. "As soon as I've had a call from the magistrate's court, I'll let you know what's happening, and if necessary, put the wheels in motion." But on reaching her office, Karen found that she already had an e-mail waiting for her, from the administration officer she knew at the local magistrate's court, to tell her that several inmates were destined for Larkhall that morning, including one Barbara Mills. 

Since becoming Governing Governor, Karen had found it useful to forge working relationships with various court officials, to ensure that she was often given prior warning of particularly dangerous or troublesome inmates, who might be on their way to her prison. It meant that officers could be warned in advance, and that arrangements could be made as to where to house such inmates. Others before her, such as Simon Stubberfield, might have used such a position to avoid taking a particularly violent inmate, or a prisoner with any difficult to manage health problems, but Karen liked to think that she used it to the women's advantage, not her own, though she was usually wise enough to admit that it was a bit of both. Feeling that this day had already begun at a speed she could easily do without, she picked up the phone, and wondered just what else could possibly happen before nine o'clock. When Nikki answered, Karen told her simply that yes, Barbara had been placed on remand, and that she would at some point be on her way to them. "Right, what do we do?" Nikki asked, having a momentary lapse in confidence that she could cope. "We act as normally as possible," Karen told her gently but firmly. "Yes, Barbara is a friend to both of us, but she is also a prisoner on remand, no matter how much you and I might believe her innocent, and we still don't know whether she is or not, you must remember that." "Yeah, I know," Nikki said miserably. "But what do I tell the others?" "You tell her friends nothing at all," Karen said decisively. "They'll find out soon enough. As for the officers, you warn any who know her from her previous incarceration, to play it well and truly by the book. I will not have a prisoner victimised, just because the likes of Sylvia will no doubt bear a pretty significant grudge. You'd left by then, but Sylvia had a bit of a thing for Henry when he was here, so this news is going to affect her most of all." "Are you sure Barbara should be put on G wing?" Nikki asked, thinking that this situation was going from bad to worse. "Yes," Karen said without hesitation. "Because you can look after her. As you said yesterday, Barbara didn't deal very well with prison last time, so I shouldn't imagine that this stretch will be any less traumatic for her. She suffers from claustrophobia, so she needs to be handled very carefully. Got any ideas where you're going to put her?" "Difficult one," Nikki mused, switching on her computer and waiting for it to boot up. "There's no one in at the moment who I could imagine her sharing a cell with, but then I'm not sure that being on her own will be the best thing for her." "She might prefer it, if we can manage it," Karen said with sincere empathy for Barbara's plight. "Henry only died on Sunday, and if nothing else, Barbara needs the space to grieve." "There is a spare single cell on the ground floor, next door to Phyl Oswin and Bev Tull," Nikki said, after scrolling through the table that illustrated at a glance where each and every prisoner on her wing was housed. "Or there's a double cell empty on the landing above, next door to the Julies." "Yeah, put her there," Karen said, making the decision for her. "It might be better for her to be close to people she knows." "If we get a massive influx of new ones, we might have to think again." 

As Nikki walked into the officers' room on G wing, she couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. Di and Sylvia no doubt would have no end of righteous things to say on Barbara's being put on remand, Dominic would probably have some sympathy for Barbara, and Gina would definitely be cynical. Why, oh why were her subordinates quite so bloody predictable on occasions such as these? Why, just for once, couldn't Sylvia be sympathetic, and Dominic be righteously angry? It would certainly make a very welcome change, which was why it would never happen, not in a million years. To the likes of Selena, Barbara was just another new inmate, no more no less. "Anything crazy happen while I was away?" She began, after pouring herself a cup of tea and lighting a cigarette. "Hmm," Sniffed Sylvia. "It's all right for some." "You should have said, Sylvia," Nikki broke in with a perfectly straight face. "I'd have brought you back an after eight, if I'd known it meant that much to you." "Whole box more like," Gina put in with a laugh as the others tittered. "Learn anything useful?" Dominic asked, always eager to further his education, prompting Nikki to think that she might just take him with her next time. "If it's anything I want to put into practice, I'm sure you'll find out in due course," Nikki replied with a smile. "Oh, great," Muttered Sylvia darkly. "More namby pamby lefty nonsense, that's all we need." "Before we get into that particular argument, which I'm sure we can all do without first thing on a Tuesday morning," Nikki broke in, thinking that if she got through this week without wringing Sylvia's neck, it would be a miracle. "There's something you all need to know. One of the new inmates coming to us this morning is known to some of you. Barbara Hunt, or Barbara Mills as she is now known, is being sent here on remand. Her husband, the Reverend Henry Mills, died from lung cancer at the weekend, and the police have charged Barbara with his murder." "Oh, no," Sylvia said into the silence, sounding truly upset for once. "That lovely man, murdered by that supposedly Christian believing, god fearing bigamist? Well, let's hope she gets what she really deserves this time." "And that is precisely the kind of thing I will not tolerate on my wing," Nikki said firmly, looking Sylvia straight in the eye. "She is only on remand, which means, Sylvia, that she is innocent until proven guilty, as are all remand prisoners placed in our care." "Rubbish," Sylvia almost snarled. "That one's as guilty as a Judge seen coming out of one of Virginia O'Kane's knocking shops." Privately concealing a smile at the thought of John Deed patronising such an establishment, Nikki nevertheless strove to be firm. "I mean it, Sylvia, and this goes for the rest of you. I will not have any single one of you making either an example or a victim, of any prisoner, either because you know her, or because you may bear her a grudge. Any hint of this, and I can promise you that I will put you in strips myself. Is that clear?" They each and every one of them knew she couldn't actually do this, but the threat was evident. "If you all try to remember the saying that a person is innocent until proven guilty, we will all get along just fine." "And there's another saying we could all do well to remember," Sylvia put in acidly. "That a con is a con is a con, no matter how posh they sound, or how many books they can write." "Does that apply to me then?" Nikki asked, the lightness of her tone belying the stern glare in her eyes. "I was only saying..." Sylvia began and then faltered, her face turning an unhealthy tinge of pink. "Well, try and think, before you speak," Nikki told her quietly. "Have you got any idea where you're going to put her?" Dominic asked, eager to stop this developing into a row. "Yes," Nikki said with a sigh of weary acceptance at his calming influence. "The double cell on G2, next to the Julies, just for now anyway." "Do you reckon she did it?" Gina asked, also living up to Nikki's expectation. "I haven't got a bloody clue," Nikki told her, her eyes scanning the entire group of officers. "Do you know something," She said, her tone sounding almost bored. "Virtually every single one of you has reacted in precisely the way I thought you would. Do you have any idea how depressing that is?" "This job is depressing," Sylvia said curtly. "Get used to it." "I thought when I came in this morning," Nikki continued. "I thought that maybe, just for once, at least one of you might surprise me, that one of you might perhaps behave in an entirely different fashion for a change, but I can see I was barking right up the wrong tree hoping for that one. So, what are you all waiting for?" She finished, now wanting to get on with the rest of her day. "Oh, and Sylvia," She added as they all made for the door. "Can we please try to avoid a case of mistaken identity this time? I don't want Barbara being sent down the block, just because you're stupid enough to think she's Tessa Spall." 

When the lorry came to a stop, Barbara almost didn't want to look. She didn't want to see the not so kind, and all too condemning faces of the officers she knew, the kind but possibly stand offish faces of Nikki and Karen, or the drab, familiar surroundings of Larkhall. But when she was led out of the van, she forced herself to open her eyes. It was as bad as it could have been. She was back at Larkhall right enough, and there was Dominic McAllister and Sylvia Hollamby to meet her. "Well, well, Hunt," Sylvia greeted her curtly. "Back again are we?" Barbara opened her mouth to speak, but unable to find anything to say, she closed it again. "Get inside," Sylvia told her, giving her a forceful shove in the direction of the steps that led into reception. As she passed Dominic, she tried to meet his eyes, receiving a slight smile of sympathy in return. As she sat on the row of plastic chairs, clutching her handbag, the only thing she'd had with her when she'd been charged, she looked anew at the place she couldn't remember from last time. The walls were full of the same dingy posters as the rest of the prison, the ones about drug addiction, self-harm, suicide, and basic prison conduct. "Hunt," Sylvia called out eventually, but achieving no response. "Hunt, didn't you hear me?" She said, walking up to Barbara and staring her in the face. "My name, is Mills, as well you know," Barbara told her with a hiss, the tension of her confinement finally beginning to get to her. "Hmm, a lovely, kind man gives you his name, and you kill him for it," Sylvia said bitterly. "Nice way for a Christian to behave." "I didn't," Barbara insisted, the tears rising to her eyes, because she knew that this was just the first in a long line of protestations, that she would inevitably be forced to make to the people of this place. "Innocent until proven guilty?" Sylvia huffed in disgust. "Remand my eye. You're going nowhere, Hunt. When they eventually find you guilty, they'll send you back here for life, and here you'll stay." Sylvia sounded so venomous, so certain of Barbara's fate, that Barbara felt momentarily afraid of her. "Get over there," Sylvia ordered. "And get your clothes off." "Sylvia, give it a rest, yeah?" Dominic tried to intervene, seeing that Sylvia wasn't about to let up on Barbara at all. "Oh, don't come the nancy boy act with me, Dominic," Sylvia told him scornfully. "That one deserves everything that's coming to her, justice or no justice." 

When Barbara had been searched and photographed, and her permitted possessions returned to her in a prison issue plastic bag, Sylvia yet again addressed her by her former name. "Hunt, oh, sorry, Mrs. Mills," She added in a sickly sweet tone. "Your wing governor wishes to see you." Then, returning to her former bitterness, she said, "Seems she thinks she can give you special treatment, as you're a friend of hers. Still, all cons together, I suppose." Biting her tongue, because she didn't want to make the situation with Sylvia any worse than it already was, Barbara followed her up through the maize of familiar dingy gray corridors, the clang of every gate seeming to reverberate around her skull. She dreaded seeing Nikki, desperately not wanting to meet that look of either pity or scorn in the eyes of the only person who managed to keep her sane, the last time she was in prison. "Your old cell mate," Sylvia said almost conversationally as they walked. "Seems to think she's a cut above the likes of you these days, got herself a set of keys, as well as the suit. Wonder what she'll think of you now, landing yourself back here, right under her nose." When Nikki bade them to enter, Sylvia pushed Barbara in ahead of her. "She's had fingerprints, dry bath and photos," She told Nikki without any further explanation. "But you asked to see her before we could grant her the privilege of a reception phone call." "Fine," Nikki replied, clearly brooking no argument. "I'll sort that out myself, and I'll bring Barbara down to the wing when we're ready." Without further ado, Sylvia turned on her heel and strode out of the office, slamming the door behind her. 

Nikki walked slowly over to Barbara, seeing a look of combined fear and uncertainty on her face. "How are you?" She asked quietly, thinking this a particularly pointless question in the circumstances. "Oh, Nikki," Barbara said, the tears finally breaking free. "Why am I here?" She asked, as if Nikki could provide all the answers. "I don't know, sweetheart," Nikki told her, wrapping her friend in a warm embrace. Barbara clung to her, seeing in one glance that Nikki neither scorned nor pitied her. All she could see in Nikki's face was kindness and sympathy, two attributes that hadn't been present in anyone who had spoken to her over the last couple of days. "I shouldn't be here," Barbara insisted when she calmed down a little. "I'm serious, Nikki, I didn't do it. Not even for Henry would I risk being sent to prison again." "Are you telling me the truth, Barbara?" Nikki asked, drawing slightly back from her so that she could look Barbara in the face, remembering all too clearly the one occasion on which Barbara had lied to her, lied to them all, over the money she had inherited from Peter. "I promise you, Nikki, I no more helped Henry to die, than Karen helped her son to die." "Okay," Nikki replied, seeing and hearing the sincerity in Barbara's words. "Then we'll have to see what we can do about it, won't we." After guiding Barbara into her visitor's chair, Nikki asked her secretary to bring them some tea. 

When Barbara had taken a sip of the strong, sweet warmth, usually the perfect antidote to shock, Nikki said, "Now, seeing as you didn't get your phone call, you can make it from here." "I need to phone Yvonne," Barbara said, putting the cup down. "I could do with someone picking some clothes and things up for me, and I suppose I'd better ask her to contact a barrister." "Jo Mills would be the obvious choice," Nikki said quietly. "And I'm half tempted to ask someone who I've never met before," Barbara replied. "After getting to know Jo and George, not to mention the judge, during Lauren's trial and 'The Creation', I don't know if I could ever look any of them in the face after this." "Barbara, that's what they do," Nikki told her with a smile. "Defending people who are innocent until proven guilty, that's what Jo and George do. Jesus, if Jo can defend Lauren Atkins, knowing she killed Fenner, then she'll without doubt stand up for you, you know she will." "I know," Barbara said miserably. "I just feel so, I don't know, so humiliated, so vulnerable. I know I didn't do anything wrong, but no one else does." "I do," Nikki told her with total certainty. "So will Karen, and so will Jo. For now, that's all that matters." 

When Barbara had telephoned Yvonne, asking her if she could possibly bring her in some clothes, as well as contacting Jo, Nikki took her down to the wing. "I've put you next door to the Julies, because we both know that you need to be around friends if at all possible. You've got a double cell to yourself for now, because I thought you might prefer to be on your own, but I can't promise that'll last." "Thank you, for doing all that you are, Nikki," Barbara said, her words sounding foreign in the bleak surroundings. "I'm doing what I would for any prisoner in your situation," Nikki assured her. "I'm going to make Dominic your personal officer for the time being, and if you have any problems, anything you want to talk about, you come to him or to me. If the claustrophobia puts in an appearance, and you want some medication to calm you down, just in the beginning, ask Dominic to get you an appointment with Dr. Waugh." "You know," Barbara said with a slight smile. "You really do sound like a wing governor." "I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing," Nikki said ruefully. "But Sylvia keeps me in my place by reminding me of my roots." 

When they appeared through the gates on G wing, they were approached by the Julies. "Eh Babs, what're you doing back here?" Julie Saunders said in surprise. "Barbara's been put on remand for a while," Nikki told them quietly. "I'm putting her in the double cell next to yours, and I want the two of you to look after her." "Course we will," Julie J responded, taking Barbara's small bag of belongings from her. "What's happened?" Barbara opened her mouth to tell them, but found that she was unable to formulate any kind of an answer. "Let her settle in first, eh Julies," Nikki said calmly. "And she'll tell you in her own time." "Yeah, best to sort yourself out first," Julie J agreed as they walked towards the stairs. "Then we'll get you a cup of tea," Julie S promised. "And you can tell us all about it." As Nikki stood, and watched the Julies escort Barbara upstairs, she blinked a few tears away, thinking that this was the beginning of her longest professional road yet. She was going to find it immensely difficult to remain professionally detached with Barbara's case, to stay on the screws' side of the wire, as if Barbara were nothing more than just another prisoner. Barbara wasn't just another inmate though, was she, she was a friend, a firm, sincere friend who had kept Nikki going through some of her darkest moments in Larkhall, who had kept her focused when it looked as though all with Helen was lost. "You all right, Nikki?" Dominic asked, coming up to her and laying a brief hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, fine," Nikki replied, trying to force her professional mask back into place. "I just never thought I'd see her back in here, that's all. I mean, someone like the Julies, or Denny, you get used to seeing them round the place, because the old joint wouldn't quite be the same without them. But Barbara, she knows more about me than I probably know myself, and it just feels wrong that I've now got to lock the door on her, keep the bars between us as if we never shared a cell, as if we never spent many a night whinging about the screws, or talking about some of the darkest times we've ever had." "I know it's a bit deep for a Tuesday morning," Dominic replied with a sympathetic smile. "But don't you think that that's how Helen felt, every time she banged you up in the old days. Every time she had to pull rank on you, she probably felt something very similar." "Yeah, I guess she did," Nikki said, smiling back at him. "But I'm not about to resign, just because of divided loyalties. Barbara needs all the help I can give her." 


	2. Part Two

Part Two The all seeing eye of all human activity looked down on the courtyard as both Nikki and Karen made their uncertain way across the courtyard through the front gates. Then it soared effortlessly up into the air, taking in the perspective of the high castle walls of G Wing. Soon, the cobbled courtyard diminished into the size of a postage stamp and the eye gained perspective of the whole grim castle like walls and buttresses of Larkhall. Those few prison officers who arrived at work were reduced in perspective to that of ants and disappeared from sight as the eye floated into the air up on high and away into the distance. After a journey of what seemed like an eternity, floating on soft white clouds, the view below drifted downward and sideways, taking in the perspective of another institution, many miles away, and of similar purposeful ant like scurrying of people in motion which gave it a similar purpose and drive as at Larkhall. The eye took in the modernist, slab sided walls and glass windows, which held the inhabitants captive to their own destinies and purposes. To the side of the huge complex was the large car park and, as the eye descended, it disappeared from view and the eye focused in on the front of the complex. The focal point that came into view was the pull in point where two white vans were parked. At this moment, another one arrived, blue light flashing and everyone and everything giving way to the urgency of its errand. The back doors opened and two men carried a vague captive shape in on a stretcher, which was swallowed up in the wide-open mouth of the entrance. Coming down to ground level, the human beings became real and the false distancing perspective of human beings to ants was abolished and the fresh faced figure Will Curtis, Cardio thoracic Registrar, Darwin Ward walked into work as usual. Such was another day at St. Mary's Hospital, Paddington.

"You're only young once," he heard the scatty, bubbly and very persuasive Donna Jackson reason with her slightly severe senior nurse, Lisa Fox. "I was at a party last night. You know me, never one to miss out on a chance of fun." "Don't I know it," the fair haired woman, not much older than Donna, try to remind her one time flat mate of her responsibilities. "but you're ten minutes late. One of your friends will be waiting to get off their shift." "I'll work extra hard and make up for lost time as I always do," the irrepressible rubber ball personality spieled back with long practice. "Mr. Curtis, don't you agree with me?" Will Curtis threw up his hands to resist being dragged into the matter. "Nothing to do with me, I only performs life saving operations." His manner was the curious mixture of one who was out of his depth in dealing with fast-mouthed adolescent girls and a lordly consciousness of his importance in the affairs of hospital, and that others were mere adjuncts to this process. The fact that he was married with two children made no difference to that uneasiness as, after all, he was a busy man working long shifts to provide for his family.  
"How many times have I heard that old chestnut?" a broad scouse voice came from behind him as the laughing face of Staff Nurse Tricia Williams came into view. She worked in Darwin Ward and wasn't Donna's responsibility, thank God. She was a middle aged woman whose happy go lucky manner was younger than her years and whose own daughter Chrissie worked uneasily with her. She had heard them all and had said them all. Donna smiled sheepishly in response and took one glance out of the corner of her eye at the approaching figure and beat a hasty exit as a sterner, more determined authority figure was on hand.  
"Mr. Curtis, nice of you to favour us with your presence," Came the cool commanding tones of his arch enemy, the very dominant Connie Beauchamp, Consultant Cardio thoracic Surgeon, and Medical Director of St. Mary's Hospital, Darwin Ward. She was very much in charge and let Will know of this in particular. There was no love lost between the two of them. If there was anyone Will felt tense to be around it was Connie Beauchamp. She had that knack of making him feel that she was his old schoolteacher, who had ticked him off for his shirt tail hanging out. His modern day insecurity was that her verbal fluency could leave him flat footed and had built up to the point that the slightest word made him flare up. "I think that I am entitled to some holiday to spend time with my wife and my children but then again, you wouldn't know about such things." His answer was delivered in that flat, neutral tone born of standing to attention as a one-time army doctor whose career path had inexplicably veered to civilian life. Even at his most boilingly angry inside, rules and regulations never allowed his tone of voice to let itself go and so he resorted to his take on subtle sarcasm if suitably provoked.  
"As far as I am concerned, you don't exist outside this hospital. That's only fair, as outside my job I don't exist either," Connie retorted with a slight smile on her face and lowered eyelids that mixed the slightly flirtatious with the totally dismissive. She knew well enough that this was the perception that everyone who worked under her had of her. She had that spring heeled nimbleness in verbal sparring to twist that outrageously to her advantage. before continuing in a slightly harder tone. "However, you know what I think if your home life ever interferes with your job…….but this is not a time for arguments. Have a nice day." She twirled round and headed off elsewhere as she delivered that last remark so softly that it had the recipients guessing that fraction of a time too long before she was gone. Will was left fuming in her wake. He always made the mistake of trying to beat her in a fair open verbal exchange.  
"Back to the chain gang, eh," Came the easy joking tones behind him that calmed Will down a little. "I've gone through that one with my children and I've come through the other side pretty unscathed." The voice was that of Ric Griffin, Consultant General Surgeon of Keller Ward. Of Jamaican origin, he came from the same school of very English diction as Trevor McDonald. He was an easy-going man who was happy to get along with those around him. They started to stroll down the wide airy central corridor running down the central core of the hospital. It permitted a clear view down as far as the eye could see unlike the crooked, dog legged corridors of Larkhall, which were bound and limited by sets of barred gates. "You should know as you have had enough of them…..and wives as well," Joked Professor Zubin Khan, Head of Anaesthetics. He was alluding to Ric's four ex wives and nearly a fifth and nine children which always made Zubin's mind boggle at the thought. He prided himself as a restrained man of moderation and he felt that the one late wife and grown up daughter was quite enough to handle on top of himself. "The first time I asked for my first wife's hand in marriage, I was really nervous. When it got to the fourth, it was a piece of cake. And, as for children, can I be blamed?" "There's no answer that I can repeat in polite company," Retorted Zubin in that slightly earnest way of speaking that he always adopted. His manner was softened by a tone of easy familiarity with Ric, born of a thirty year friendship at medical school which still made Will feel uneasy as the relative newcomer. "Got to go," He added as his place of work took him in a different direction.

"Talking of polite company, I had an argument with Connie not five seconds after I got here," Will remarked to Ric, clearly seeking sympathy from him. "Doesn't she ever let up?" "And you lost it, I don't wonder. The secret of a happy life, Will, is not to rise to the bait which Connie dangles so temptingly in front of you," Laughed Ric. He had slipped into the not altogether welcome role of middleman, arbitrating between all sides and somehow avoiding any confrontation with Connie. "You've not answered my question, Ric. Why does she make a dead set at me?" asked Will and a complaining tone of voice unusually broke through.  
"You have to admit that Connie Beauchamp is a total professional," Explained Ric patiently. "She drives herself as hard as she drives others. You must know that from seeing her in action. She feels that anything that could go wrong in her hospital is a potential threat to herself……" "You've put your finger on it. She feels that it is her hospital. Why on earth can't she just lighten up?" Ric gave up. He had been Medical Director once and all it was to him was a bed of nails, eternally arbitrating between so many squabbling individualists. He would sooner have spent a day with Jess and Leo when they were hell on earth squabbling adolescents. He just didn't have that drive within him and there was a definite limit to his ambitions. He knew that Connie was different and he respected that difference when he knew, what Zubin did not, how onerous was that responsibility. He sighed. He might as well have been reasoning with Zubin who periodically got on his high horse about Connie in a similar way that Will did in his petulant fashion.  
"She just wants to knock you into shape. Standard practice for young registrars," Laughed Ric.  
Will winced. The words made him feel as uncomfortable as Connie's seductive intonation on those very same words that Connie had directed at Will when, for some reason which he could not explain, he gave up on his intention to go into general surgery under Ric instead of specialist cardio thoracic surgery under Connie. It had seemed a good idea at the time, only Connie's brief good humour had vanished and she was back to hounding him as before.

"Tom, will you have a look at this patient? I need a second opinion," Ric had asked of the slightly built man who quick movements visibly bristled with the authority and the mannerisms of the dominant rooster in the farmyard. It was understood that while Connie was not available with her managerial functions, Tom Campbell-Gore, consultant cardio thoracic surgeon would be on hand. Tom narrowed his eyes while Ric's deplorable taste in rock music provided a curious accompaniment. The general public's image was of surgeons earnestly at work in total dedicated silence and would have never suspected that they could carry on an impeccably coordinated conversation as to the best course on how to operate, to be undisturbed by the variety of music going on in the background and at the same time, the very adrenaline charged and combative personalities could snipe and counter snipe at each other. Even without the mere minor details of the operation, the cross fire could be deadly, as for example between Zubin and Connie whose respective authorities in the almost military pecking order of the hospital allowed this to go on. This seemed to be similar of all institutions whose evolution owed something to military in its origins, whether hospital or prison service.  
"Leave this to me," He smiled in satisfaction as he ruminated on the medical conundrum. "I've seen him before, Ric. I never forget a face. Now who is he? The name will come to me in a second." After the light switched on in his face, Tom worked with restrained control with the tools of his trade, surrounded by his acolytes, the life saving heart monitors and other expensive machinery and a respectful Ric giving him the respect due to him.  
"BP steady," Announced a flat tone, cueing him as he worked away. The tall thin figure of Zubin, the anaesthetist, hovered in the background, unusually silent as he performed his function. He was also silent as Tom's ego bruised his sensitivities as to his place in the world. A cynic about him would consider that, deep down, Zubin gained comfort in extending his long standing area of moral disapproval from Tom through to Connie, whose bold and brash intrusion into the exclusive male world of consultant surgeons, had disturbed his conventional ideas of what was right and proper. Ric could never tell Zubin that he did not know that he was well off in only having Tom to spar with and that, as he got on well enough with the other two, why on earth couldn't he get some peace and quiet in his life. The problem was that there was a tendency to take for granted his easy going tolerant surface personality. "I don't approve of the way that Tom conducts his operations. I have nothing personal against him. It is my duty to stand up for what is right," Zubin had repeatedly urged him in those actorish tones, which Ric shrugged off. Well, Ric smiled cynically, Zubin could not claim the same about Connie. It was all a shame as, kept off those subjects, Zubin gave him that easy, friendly male company that stretched back far back in time.

Staff nurse Tricia Williams dispensed her cheerful and reassuring care lavishly to the patients on Darwin ward who perked up immediately. She felt especially on top of the world as she was sure as anything she was sure of that she was engaging the abundant Cuban-American charms of Carlos Fishola, the consultant plastic surgeon. If ever a man were an advertisement for his profession, it was he. His suave good looks combined that exotic American drawl in his voice with that Latin American charm, an irresistible combination. From the perspective of her native Liverpool, he was a window on the world and the answer to any woman's dreams, teenage or otherwise. Right now, she could manage anything, even her daughter Chrissie's testiness.

You were never sure how the day was going to go, she reflected, her mind on the job. It all came down to the registrars she came to work with. She could never work out exactly why but there was a tendency for young registrars fresh out of medical school to treat the nurses and sisters as personal slaves, dependent on the passing whim of the moment. Will Curtis should have known better but he had been one of the worst of them until time and circumstances knocked a few of those rough edges off him. He had everything coming to him that way and he seemed to have learnt a few lessons. Today, fortune had smiled on her as behind her Tash Bandara, the General Surgical Registrar strolled along behind her. She was an imperturbable woman in her mid thirties whose wise eyes must have looked out into the world from when she was a little girl. She had that knack of calming the most agitated person with that mere presence of hers. She did not have to speak a single word to achieve that effect. She was an intensely private woman who respected others privacy. So self-contained was she that Ric had spent inordinate efforts to chat her up without suspecting that she was a lesbian. She smiled to herself as she entered the ward when she recalled Ric's puzzled expression as that particular penny, so far from refusing to drop, had been irretrievably positively welded to the slot. They could work a ward between them with hardly an exchange of words but they both knew that they had spent a companionable morning together.  
The rest of it was down to what emergency might break out on the wing and that everyone had to jump immediately into action. 


	3. Part Three

A/N: Credits to Shed specifically in using dialogue from their episode 7, Series 2 Bad Girls as in the dialogue between Barbara and Nikki when she tells the story of her second husband Peter.

Part Three

It was not often that Jo felt nervous when facing a new client for the first time. Her friendly, professional manner came natural to her and her mind had been honed to precision in assembling the known facts of a case and slotting in the additional facts as they came to hand. Above all else, she had a sure instinct in sensing the questions that needed asking. It was far too easy for a client, half seas over with confusion, worry and guilt, not to be able to be able to se facts of the case that were staring them right in the eyes. She had paid the hard way in her early years in not being that inquisitive enough and had groaned inwardly as her supposedly sure fire case sank right in front of her eyes to the accompaniment of a gleam of triumph from the other council and a pitying look from the judge. She had moved on a long way since those days.

That was all very well if she did not know the client personally. The image remained in her mind was the middle aged, respectable unobtrusive friendly woman whose harpsichord trills she could pick out to one side of her while she bent earnestly over her cello, coaxing the sonorous notes out of her instrument with her large bow. She was one of them, that band of musicians who retained some mystic bond from those months of intensive practice and the soaring ecstasy of that magnificent performance. For this reason, she could not think of recusing herself from the case as she was personally acquainted with her client as virtually the entire Bar Council were also acquainted with her. It might as well be her as anyone else to represent her as anyone and, besides, it was the sort of case that her heart was in. All the same, as she straightened her neat blue workmanlike suit, she wondered what she was letting herself in for.

It felt strange parking her car outside Larkhall prison once again. Images of her past visits had stuck fast in her mind so that when she confronted the outward reality, she felt hardly surprised. This October day was bright and sunny with the tail end of the good weather before the first cold fierce blast of winter's approach shredded the last of the remaining brown leaves off the trees. There wasn't a breath of wind in the air and the last of summer's warmth made it a good time to be outside before making her way to the gatehouse.

Barbara was sweating and drained as the early morning knock woke her dull senses. It felt as if she had only just drifted uneasily off to sleep. She had woken up in the middle of the night feeling that the walls of her relatively spacious double cell felt they were closing in on her and she had screamed at the window high up in her cell to be let out. By standing on tiptoes, she could only just see the night sky outside. It was lucky that Selena was on the nightshift and her calm relaxing manner had got her to get back to bed. The Julies had called anxiously from next door and had quietened her down but even then, she had spent hours staring anxiously at the walls and her breathing remained rapid and shallow. At the bottom of that core of fear, her world had been turned upside down. She loved the Julies for their unfailing kindness and she knew that she could have been worse off from remembering Larkhall of old but did she expect to see them again this side of the prison bars? She crushed that down as an unchristian thought, especially that they had been out of her thoughts for far too long while she had dutifully played the part of the vicar's wife. She thought of her friend Nikki who hadn't stopped being her friend even if she happened to be wing governor. She knew Nikki was looking after her but even when her terrors momentarily subsided, she felt acutely uncomfortable to be in the situation of being looked after. Even while these feelings of guilt and confusion swirled round her, the only way they could be blotted out was if her terrors returned to hold her in their vice like grip. All she longed for was that sweet feeling of normality. Nothing could possibly comfort her except to be free of this nightmare. "Hey, Babs, want us to fetch you a cup of tea?" Julie Johnson asked her while she huddled up under her blankets, first thing in the morning. She had relapsed into a vague haze when her fingertips suddenly came into contact with a vaguely cylindrical plastic shape, which wobbled slightly.  
"Careful or you'll spill your tea. Tina's made it just the way you like it." A nice cup of tea, even out of a blue beaker as opposed to her prized tea set was the first vaguely normal experience.  
"I've got to go on the servery, but Nikki's just behind me. She'll look after you." The words of the other woman sounded incredibly tender and kind hearted to Barbara as Julie dropped into the natural mode of thinking and expectation that Nikki, whoever she was and whatever uniform she was wearing, would take care of her like she always used to. At this moment, following Julie's lead seemed to Nikki to be the most natural thing to do.  
"Like Julie says, I'll stop here with you till you're ready. I've got time." Barbara gradually released her fierce clutch onto a corner of the blanket and began to reach a tenuous grip on the world as she sipped the English cure for all manner of troubles.

Later, as Nikki looked at her watch and made plans on what she had to do when Jo came to visit. It was perfectly obvious to her and she received a grateful smile when this was suggested. It was the ideal solution to something that was worrying her of trying to concentrate if she was shivering, edgy and totally drained from last night and doing her best to think clearly and tell Jo everything.

"It's lovely to see you, Jo, we haven't seen you for far too long. It's a pity it has to be in a situation like this." Nikki's bright smile and light in her eyes welcomed Jo but faded as the purpose of her visit came home to her and that it wasn't a social call. "I suppose you'll be showing me to the room?" Jo asked lightly "I've got a better idea. If it is all right with you, I'll have a table and chairs set up in the exercise yard. There's a good reason for this," She went on to say as Jo raised her eyebrows in mild astonishment. "Barbara is under real stress and that brings on her claustrophobia. I know that very well as a long time ago, I was put into a double cell with her because of that which is how we got to become close friends. One of the private rooms would be living hell to her and no use to either of you." "That sounds a good idea but will there be anyone around?" "I can guarantee you two, three hours completely on your own as most of the inmates will either be in their cells or at work or education, so that you and Barbara have the exercise yard to yourselves. If you're happy with the idea, perhaps you care to join me in a cup of tea with me in my office while everything's being set up, and I'll take you and Barbara to where your al fresco room will be" Jo thought over the idea rapidly. It was pleasant enough outside and Nikki's unconventional idea certainly had its merits, especially as Barbara would be at her most relaxed. What was most important was for Barbara to be at her most clear-headed. She liked the idea of being out in the open, one last taste of summer. "You lead the way, Nikki," Jo smiled. She liked this courteous, thoughtful woman and a short break before the hard work seemed a pleasant way to pass the time. As soon as she entered the room, memories of when she was last here came flooding back to Jo and they came straight out of her mouth.  
"The last time I was here in this room, Karen was wing governor and Fenner was still alive." "He must be turning in his grave to see me of all people behind this desk. Never did quite make it to the top, did he?" They both laughed at the joke and shared some idle chitchat. As Jo had finished her cup of tea, Nikki's phone rang to say the furniture was set up. "In my club days, I would have done it myself. It still seems strange to pick up the phone and someone else does it for me." Nikki grinned at her aside to Jo and phoned up for Barbara to be brought to her room. Her voice was not quite the confident administrator as Colin answered the call.  
"You're ready to face the music, Barbara?" Nikki asked the other pale faced, sweating woman. The way she walked told Nikki how tense Barbara was. "In your own time." Barbara smiled wanly, and the three of them threaded their way out of the wing to the top of the steep steps down to the exercise yard to where the table and two chairs were set up. If Jo hadn't been a little anxious about Barbara, she could make believe that the three of them were merely happening to be having a pleasant get together in a suburban patio back garden if she didn't look too hard at the prison buildings at the far side of the short, cropped turf. When the three of them approached the simple table and chairs, she flopped into a waiting seat and inhaled deep lungfuls of air while Jo sat opposite.  
"I've got to go but here's my mobile number, Jo. You phone me if you want any tea and biscuits and the Julies will bring them and also when you're done and I'll come myself to fetch you." As she uttered these words, a memory flash took her back to the time when Claire Walker another very sympathetic and strong female member of the legal profession came to talk to her and Helen once stood in the shoes that she was wearing today. The autumn sun smiled encouragingly down on the two women and Jo allowed a minute or two after Nikki left before she spoke.

"I'm not sure what questions you're going to ask me, Jo," Barbara started to say in an agitated fashion, "but as God is my witness, I had nothing to do with dear Henry's death apart from nursing him right up to the end but I'm certain that some dreadful official will know my name and try all the more to ensnare me." "Why on earth would anyone act that way?" Jo asked ever so softly. She could detect a mixture of hurt, pain, anger and despair running round her mind.  
Barbara coloured deeply. She had given herself away.  
"Just how much do you know about my past except that I've been here before?" "I make it a rule to make up my mind from what any client tells me and not go by what I think I know. It's safer that way," Jo answered evenly.  
"Do you find it easy to represent a client who you know personally?" Barbara pursued in a curiously formal fashion.  
"I don't find it easy when I know you from playing in the same orchestra and from being a witness in the Atkins/Merriman trial." "Is that so much of a problem?" "It's only that it could make it harder to defend anyone who I know and got to like. It's like asking a surgeon to operate on his father and to be clear thinking as he has to be. I'm supposed to put together the facts in a detached, unemotional way so that I can think most clearly and not to overlook any weakness in my case that the other barrister can exploit." "And do you?" "Think clearly, yes. Be unemotional, not all the time. That is my failing if you could call it one." Jo's smile was free and easy and her eyes sparkled in the sunshine. "Then that's all right." Jo's candid manner made Barbara become less tense and even smile slightly. "Are you ready to talk now?" Jo continued very softly, as a very gentle breeze ruffled her hair. "I have to. I owe it to Henry's memory. He would not want it any other way." Jo stretched out more comfortably in her chair as the tension flowed out of her body. She had been a little nervous in wondering how she would talk to Barbara.

"Let's start from the beginning. I don't want to pry, but can you explain in your own words, why you were previously in Larkhall?" Barbara carefully removed her glasses, polished them on a pocket-handkerchief and replaced them carefully on her nose.  
"I have been married three times," Barbara said slowly, her face twisting slightly in pain as the grim finality of the past tense hit home. "I was unhappily married to my first husband before I met Peter, my second husband. Peter was a lovely man like Henry was. He was a widower who was as much in need of comfort as I realized that I was in need of. Suddenly, I found a kind sensitive, deeply civilized man took me out of my world and into his world. I found a man whom I could love and who loved me. We traveled on holiday to different countries, to the outer reaches of Tibet in a spiritual journey of exploration for example. It was wonderful, except that….. " Barbara smiled inwardly at such satisfaction until a shadow flitted across her face and she stopped. "Please continue," Jo prompted.  
"I was going to say that my first husband was a Catholic and did not believe in divorce and prevented us from marrying in the normal course of events. We felt married anyway in the eyes of God as any couple." "I understand," Jo articulated softly. Now was not the time to pursue the matter, she judged as Barbara's voice lost its smooth flow and became awkward, strained.  
"Peter had two children from his first marriage and they resented me from the start. They were Peter's children and for his sake I did everything to try and keep the peace but to no avail. They probably saw me as an obstacle between what they saw as their inheritance, God forgive me." Jo passed a tissue with her sympathy as a long buried ancient hurt burst to the surface as her face crumpled.  
"Everything would have been fine if Peter hadn't become ill," She sighed as recalling the tragedy meant reliving it one more time as she had for Nikki. "The dear man tried to minimize his illness till I forced him to go to the doctor. Even I wasn't prepared for the bad news…they called it inoperable lung cancer, too far advanced for more than palliative treatment…..my God. He became worse, in so much pain as the illness consumed him. I felt so helpless to do anything for him, you do understand, Jo. It is most important that you know and feel it, more than you could imagine……" The passionate fear and pain broke through her accustomed stoical manner and her blue eyes looked at this professional woman for kindly judgment. Inside, Jo's feelings lurched sickeningly. She knew only too well. She had been sucked down into the same hell by the illness that killed her own husband years ago. She swallowed down that own knot in her stomach and smiled kindly mouthing to her ears trite words. "I'm a human being, Barbara though I admit, I can't feel your feelings for you." It was that look of understanding from the older woman which flashed between them that made Jo feel young and untutored but curiously relieved that, in her untutored way, she had done the right thing.  
"He was in such pain towards the end," repeated Barbara in a bleak prayerful manner of a profoundly Christian fearing that the eternal judge who held her soul captive wouldn't forgive her or give her absolution, "that it was almost more than either of us could bear, It wasn't murder but what I did was to kill one of the two men I have ever loved in my life." Those words tortured Jo beyond belief. There but the grace of god goes Josephine Mills. She could not speak as her own misery that she had held back for so long came flooding back. She did not know what to do or say next and she was supposed to do or say something. 

It was at that moment that whatever providence in the world arrived in the form of Julie Saunders whose light footsteps and greeting came at the right time. She had carried a tray with a teapot and two cups and saucers, a milk jug and sugar pot and a plate full of rich tea biscuits. "Nikki sent me as she thought you'd be thirsty with all that talking. I'm not getting in the way?" "Bless you. You came out just at the right time," Came Jo's response with heartfelt emotion, a tear in her eye.  
Julie Saunders was simultaneously flattered and embarrassed. She didn't think that serving tea and biscuits was all that special. Barbara was delighted that something like Julie's prosaic, common sense self came along at the right time and a wave of gratitude that swept through her and rescued her made her curiously light headed as she asked with that slight knowing smile curving the corners of her lips,  
"You're not serving us with some of your special cookies, Julie? I've heard all about them." "No, they're all legal and above board. Miss Betts said she'd have us shipped out if we did that again." Julie set up the cups and saucers and poured the tea in her kindly down to earth manner somehow banished the demons that the conversation had summoned up in both Jo and Barbara. She smiled at both of them reassuringly though her conscious mind would have wondered why the bleeding hell she would need to reassure them. After all, she's only one of the red bans, nothing fancy like.  
"You just phone Nikki if you want a refill and more biscuits," She finished before making a discreet exit.

"What was that all about, Barbara?" Jo smilingly asked.  
"Oh nothing much. It was April fools day and they cooked up some cannabis cookies as a special surprise, and Karen had only been in her first week as governing governor, and Gina Rossi was acting wing governor. I think they both rather enjoyed the experience though they could hardly go around advertising the matter." Jo shook her head and smiled at the nonchalant way that Barbara, that very respectable woman, delivered her judgment with total aplomb. The words 'dark horse' framed themselves in her mind without any conscious thought process.

"I have to ask you a painful set of questions, Barbara, but only as they are central to the case," Jo carried on, the delivery of her next set of questions being slow and as tentative as she felt inside. "Can you be more exact as to how Peter came to die and what led you to be imprisoned in relation to his death?"

"Peter did not want to die in a hospital bed, far away from me. He wanted to be at home with me. As his illness advanced……" and Barbara drew in a long intake of breath, steadying herself and nerving her to push through to the end of this intensely painful part of the story. "……………he grew weaker, more in need of nursing by me and more in pain. I took special leave from work so I had no shelter, nothing I could lose myself in….." Jo winced inwardly. She knew exactly what Barbara was getting at.  
"……..eventually, the anaesthetist had to instruct me on how to deliver regular morphine injections which were rather more effective than the cannabis plants that I grew in a discreet corner of my back garden. That worked for a while and we both had some temporary peace for a while." "Did you have any assistance in looking after him?" Jo asked while Barbara paused.  
"Towards the end, I had home helps who were very kind. I ought to add that Peter's two children started to come round more often than they used to. I believed that in their cold blooded way, they did indeed love their father. It would be uncharitable and unfair of me to say otherwise but it did not soften their attitude to me. Oh, they said the right words of sympathy but that was skin deep. In the end, the morphine wasn't enough to deaden the pain…..it got worse and worse and in the end, when we were quite alone, Peter begged me to put him out of his misery and I succumbed." "So how were the police involved at a moment when you were thoroughly and morally deserving of sympathy and understanding of every decent human being?" Jo's voice trembled as she spoke the words. This was not the action of a cold unemotional brief.  
"That was Peter's children's doing. They insisted on an autopsy as to the cause of Peter's death. The unusually high level of morphine in Peter's bloodstream and them telling the police that I stood to inherit Peter's money provided them with a motive to draw the conclusions they wanted to arrive at." "What evidence do you have of this?" "They gave evidence at my trial in their high minded and slanted fashion. They had used the opportunity to visit their father to spy on me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk that way. Of course, I had no one who could or would have supported my testimony and that went against me…….I was technically guilty of shortening Peter's life but I have been brought up as a Christian to value all human life and it went against everything I had been taught to act as I did. I ought to say that the only time Peter's children ever visited me at Larkhall was to tell me that they had hired private investigators who had discovered that I was never divorced from my first husband when I married Peter. I owe it to Sylvia Hollamby in her typical score settling fashion to spread it around the other prisoners that I had inherited three and a half million pounds from Peter." "What?" Jo exclaimed inadvertently. She had thought that John turned inscrutability into an art form but this quiet, middle-aged woman was in a different league. She saw the look of shock on Barbara's face and hastily qualified her reaction. "I mean, I am glad you have been frank on the matter." "What you are really asking yourself is did that have any bearing on my actions. I can say in all conscience before God, none whatsoever. His money simply wasn't important to me. I acted purely to release from his sufferings the man I loved when his situation was utterly hopeless. When it came out at Larkhall about the money, I settled half a million pounds to found a half way house for discharged prisoners who had nowhere to go before Peter's children secured the money for themselves. It is run along the same lines as the Monica Lindsay foundation, named after another former prisoner at Larkhall whom Nikki knew very well." Jo was impressed at how open Barbara's manner was and how fair minded she tried to be against the odds. She could easily picture Barbara being up on trial before the more cynical members of the brethren. All the pieces were starting to fall into places in her mind with relatively few questions as Barbara kept the story rolling along nicely.

All the time that Barbara and Jo were intensely locked into the details of the unfolding story, the green grass unrolled itself as far as the grey walls of the administration blocks, which enclosed the exercise area. Inside, Karen glanced down at two distant human figures gathered round a table, complete with tea and biscuits. They might have been enjoying an open-air tea party in civilized surroundings if she didn't look too far around. She smiled approvingly at Nikki's highly unorthodox but successful idea of placing them where there weren't bolts and bars. Even she wouldn't have thought of that one and certainly none of the other wing governors. She smoked a cigarette as she watched and hoped that Jo was getting on well.

Jo paused for a second as she refilled her cup of tea and Barbara's from the last of the teapot and, as her eyes focused away into the distance, she spotted the hospital roof and remembered hearing of Karen's desperate attempt, in all senses of the word, to save Denny's life. Now that she could see how high and precarious that ledge was, she could feel for John being a helpless spectator of events for once in his life.

"Can you tell me about Henry, how you came to meet him and marry him?" Jo asked after she had sipped at the rather tepid liquid.  
"I was already the organist at the chapel services at Larkhall when Henry first came to Larkhall. I saw him first as a perfect English gentleman who was ill cast to begin with as the vicar at a women's prison. Very early on, he said to me that he wanted more of a challenge from the parishioners he was used to. Well, he certainly got that all right." Barbara smiled fondly.  
"Even from my limited experience of Larkhall, I can imagine." "You might remember that both of us were witnesses a couple of years ago when Snowball Merriman and Yvonne's son were jointly charged with blowing up the G Wing library. Well, dear Henry was blatantly manipulated by Snowball Merriman into giving her the run of his office, and he couldn't see that coming at the time. I once gave him an earful from me for passing on to the authorities about a matter, which I had told him in strict confidence. His well-intentioned act had unfortunate repercussions in splitting up Denny from her partner, Shaz. Those were certainly challenges………………..Oh, and I forgot, with my assistance, he had to fend off the clumsy school girlish advances of Sylvia Hollamby. That just added to the score of resentments she had of me." 

Barbara continued to rattle through all the various little incidents of the past, which had served to unite the couple. "We were both lonely people, Jo," Summarized Barbara. "Henry had been widowed in the same way that I was. We both needed friendship and stability from each other, having lost someone dear to us. It brought us together. When I got out of prison, it was totally natural for us to settle down in the parish of Chipping Ongar and enjoy the autumn of our lives in peace and serenity as we did. I know that Peter would have approved of both Henry and me marrying him." Jo did not need to ask any questions about how love could flower in such a situation, even between prisoner and prison chaplain. It was a simple tale, simply told and lived and with a very real loyal friendship between them. She wished that her life could have been like that. "…….It wasn't as if Henry was another Peter. I didn't need to compare them…..." Either the sun shone brightly on them or they both became aware of it as Barbara's thoughts swam comfortably in what she could pretend a little was the present. The distant grey walls were somehow not quite real as she enjoyed polite conversation with this very sympathetic woman. Jo picked up this pleasant, dreamy feeling but schooled herself to go into darker, more treacherous waters. "Can you tell me what happened when Henry first became ill"  
"It gradually crept up on him," Barbara sighed. "He had been diagnosed as suffering from lung cancer as far back as last June at the time of the Creation. I was watching him like a hawk at the celebrations afterwards and that was the reason why he had to leave early. Even Henry had to have a rest…." "I'm really sorry, Barbara as I never noticed at the time." Jo coloured as she apologized.  
"There was no reason why you should notice, Jo……anyway, things slid gradually downhill from then on as he found it harder and harder to keep up his duties for the parish…." "Just like Peter," Jo prompted.  
"As you say, just like Peter," Winced Barbara.  
"I only asked that question as this does avoid having to ask you to relive an incredibly distressing experience twice over," Jo answered the silent reproach, receiving a look of gratitude in return.

"Can you tell me of the circumstances the day that he died? I have to ask you this question as a lot of the trial is going to center on this one day." "I had been trained by the anaesthetist dealing with Henry's pain relief, how to deliver an injection, because, like Peter, Henry wanted to be at home, rather than in hospital. I remember going to the hospital and holding that syringe again and feeling everything that had happened to Peter come back to me in a rush. Of course, he said that I was a quick learner. Little did he know………" Jo closed her eyes in pain at the same time that Barbara did and she paused long enough for unpleasant memories of her own husband's final illness to surface at a time when she didn't need it.  
"I'd been trained to always have the next injection prepared ready for when he needed his pain relief topped up. I was particular about this routine. I had to be.……. " "Did you leave the syringe in any particular place, Barbara? I can imagine you would have been under enormous stress and run off your feet and needing to make sure you remembered to administer the exact number of doses," Jo softly interjected.  
Barbara nodded, surprised at Jo's ready understanding of the reality of the situation. "I always left it in a special place in plain sight on the bedside table, so that it would be handy whenever Henry's pain got too bad. I remember reading one of his favourite stories as he lay in bed. He had always loved books and, when he was too weak to read, I read the stories to him. He kept a diary to write his thoughts in though he hadn't written anything for a few days, the nearest he could get to writing the sermon for the next Sunday service. He was always fastidious about the written and spoken word, like the speech he gave at our performance of "the Creation." That was Henry's little contribution….."

Jo remembered Henry's speech very well. She was hardly likely to forget it.

Denny came out into the exercise yard. She spotted Babs and that nice barrister deep in conversation. She guessed that it was Nikki's typical smartarse idea so Babs would get to talk rather than feeling like shit and keeping her mouth shut. Denny knew all about feeling that your birth must have been a mistake, let along anything crap in her life that she wanted to give her a break. Wicked idea that only Nikki could come up with. She carefully edged her way to the top end of the exercise yard and got to work on the plants that Nikki herself had carefully tended a few years ago. It was great out of doors and better to be here than shut up stuffing bleeding envelopes. She was starting to feel a little better but it was a stupid idea coming on like some bible nutter and banging on about being saved. Life didn't work that way, certainly not to Denny.

"We used to have conversations much as we always had. He insisted on that and I remember talking for a little while before he drifted off to sleep as he slept very badly at nights." Jo grasped straightaway that it meant that Barbara did also and that everything was seen through the grey mists of drowsiness, which she had to force herself to overcome. "I can remember that it was around lunchtime, when I gave him another injection, that I had prepared the next dose ready, and left it where I normally did. Henry asked me to make him a cup of tea while he wanted to write in his diary. I agreed as I know from my experience how much it means to write your thoughts down. That's one of Henry's strengths…." Barbara smiled as his presence still seemed to surround her as if he could never die. Then her smile faded as she grimly took the final plunge.  
"When I came back with the cup of tea, I honestly thought that he had fallen asleep again. He looked so peaceful. It took me a little time for me to realize that he wasn't breathing……..I can't remember much after I realized that he had stopped breathing. The last that I can remember was dropping the cup of tea on the floor than that the syringe wasn't where it should be……"

Ten minutes later, both Barbara and Jo in their various ways relaxed back in their chairs, drained while the grief that was lived by both of them had eventually drained from them and left them feeling weak. They let the sun and a very faint breeze attempt some slight healing process. They could do with everything like that which came their way. Just as Jo started to put some of the facts into rough order, Nikki's light footsteps could be heard as she approached them.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're letting the other prisoners out for association in ten minutes time. Do you want more time and, perhaps I'll find you a room if that is a good idea." "You're fine, Nikki. We've just finished," Jo answered with a small smile.

As Barbara was led back to the wing into the Julie's kind hearted care, Nikki exchanged a few words with Jo.  
"Of course, we're relying on you to spring her out of here," Nikki said lightly and instantly regretted her words from the expression on Jo's face. Jesus wept, she thought, I've got to do my crusading routine and be a champion duelist with my weapons of legal precedent, incisive reasoning and my facility with words and keep my feet on the ground. Some chance.  
"Of course, we'll do our bit and look after Barbara. We can't expect you to be Superwoman." "Leotards never suited me, Nikki," Jo responded in a crazy attempt at humour.

Karen came out of the wing office, took one look at the strained expression on Jo's face and made an instant executive decision. In her job, that was ridiculously easy.  
"Want to come back to my office for a chat and a cigarette, Jo?" Immediately, Jo jumped at the idea. It was what she knew she needed, to have a chance to mentally regroup and light up a very much-needed cigarette. Some irrelevant train of thought made Jo ask herself how on earth a self righteous non smoker managed to deal with his very turbulent life without resorting to nicotine.  
"You look as if you've really gone through it," Remarked Karen as Jo lay back in a chair.  
Jo nodded. That was the understatement of the century.  
"Am I doing the right thing, Karen? She asked abruptly.  
"What makes you think that this case will be harder than other cases you've taken on?" counter questioned Karen. "Don't forget, I've built up quite a lot of experience of seeing you, George and John in action, professionally speaking in the same way that you've all seen me in mine." Jo was silent. Her thoughts were churning around far too much. "You look as if you could do with a large scotch." "If it wasn't too early, I would." Jo responded at last with a profound sense of conviction. 


	4. Part Four

A/N: Betaed by Hunca Munca. 

Part Four

After leaving the prison, Jo went back to her office trying to assimilate everything she'd been told. She had taken copious notes during the interview with Barbara and as she nibbled at a sandwich at her desk, she typed them up into some semblance of order. This process would usually have allowed her thoughts to regroup after an interview with a client but not this time. No matter how much Jo tried to occupy herself with other clients, other meetings, and the endless streams of paperwork that the job entailed, her thoughts kept returning to that exercise yard, where she'd listened to one of the most heartrending stories of her career. Barbara was slowly coming apart at the seams, Jo had seen that, and it vaguely frightened her that it was up to her and her alone to make sure that Barbara could be put back together. That couldn't begin to happen until Barbara was free, one way or the other. She stayed at the office far later than usual that day, trying to catch up on the work she'd postponed because of the meeting with Barbara. She had wanted to give the other woman as much time as she needed, without having to worry about what waited for her back at the office, but now she was paying the price. 

When at last she switched off her computer and stretched, she was astonished to see that it was after eight, the silence around her stating that virtually everyone else had left for the day. As she collected her things together, she realised that what she needed were the comforting arms and tender caresses of the gentler of her two lovers. What a strange thought, she mused to herself as she locked her office door, to think of oneself as having two lovers. The last month, of getting to know George in a way she never would have thought possible, had been utterly blissful in its own contented fashion, as Jo had gradually begun to abandon any lingering shyness she might have felt. She couldn't have asked for a more patient, more subtly guiding lover as she had found in George and this, combined with John's ever strong and reliable presence, was doing wonders for her. George had been very quiet for the first week or so after she'd returned from Spain, and both Jo and John had seen that all she really needed was space. She hadn't talked about the break up with Karen, in fact she'd barely even mentioned Karen in the subsequent weeks, but they both knew that this didn't mean she wasn't thinking about her. It was plain to see that George felt bitterly guilty for hurting Karen, and that before Karen and George resumed their friendship they needed some time apart, some time to get used to not being with each other in the way they had been before. 

George wasn't at all surprised to see Jo late on the Wednesday evening because she knew that Jo had been to visit Barbara some time today. George had been righteously angry when Jo had told her about Barbara having been charged, but she had been forced to remind herself that Barbara had done something similar before. She would go and visit Barbara at some point and that would inevitably bring her into Karen's domain. She hadn't seen or spoken to Karen since they'd returned from Spain which was almost a month ago now. They had needed that time apart, she knew, but now she was beginning to think it was about time to clear the air between them. Well, perhaps a visit to Barbara might provide the perfect opportunity. She did want to see Karen, to make sure she was alright, and to get their friendship back onto a stable footing. She thought far too much of Karen to let their friendship disintegrate simply because they were no longer sleeping together. When she opened the door she could see that Jo looked weary, frazzled, and thoroughly out of sorts. "You look tired," George said as Jo moved into the hall. "I've been staring at a computer screen for most of the day," Jo replied, taking a great deal of comfort from George's embrace. "And I've been looking forward to this for hours." "I'm always eager to please, darling," George said with a smile. They exchanged a deep and lingering kiss. "Would you like a drink?" George asked when they eventually parted. "I could have done with one at lunchtime," Jo replied as they moved into the lounge. "How did it go?" George asked, pouring Jo a large scotch and herself a martini. "Not brilliantly," Jo said dejectedly, sinking down onto the sofa and lighting a cigarette. 

Sitting down on the other end of the sofa, George asked, "what exactly has she been charged with?" "No less than murder, I'm afraid. Mainly, I think, as a result of her previous offence. Last time she was in prison, she did three years for manslaughter because she helped her terminally ill husband to die, and that's basically what she's been accused of this time. George, she reminded me so much of myself." "Oh, Jo, no," George protested, not wanting to think that Jo could ever have been in this position. "All the time she was talking to me, telling me everything about both her last two husbands, I kept thinking that such a thing could so easily have happened to me. The way she described what happened the last time, it was almost as if she was telling my story, not hers, with the only differing factor being that I didn't have to make that choice. I can't begin to contemplate what that must have done to her. I think that's why Henry killed himself, so that she wouldn't again be faced with the worst of all decisions." Jo knew she was rambling, but she simply couldn't prevent the words from rushing out, like the rapid flow of spring water, down the cragged rock face of her tortured soul. "Jo," George asked a little tentatively. "are you absolutely sure that that's what happened?" "Yes," Jo said without hesitation. "She said that not even for Henry, could she have contemplated going back to prison." 

After lighting a cigarette of her own, George took a deep drag and asked, "so, where do you go from here?" "I need to talk to the consultant who dealt with Henry's pain relief, and I possibly need to talk to the surgeon who declared his cancer as inoperable. That is, if the prosecution haven't already recruited her for their highly unworthy cause." "You're starting to sound like me," George said with a lopsided smile. "It's usually me who won't give the prosecuting establishment the time of day, not you." "The only reason Barbara has been charged is because the police can't accept that just because someone might have made a mistake on a previous occasion, they can't possibly have altered their ways in the meantime." "Helping someone to die is a little more than a mistake Jo," George commented carefully, seeing that all Jo's emotions were currently on red alert, as volatile as George herself on one of her bad days. "Maybe that's the point," Jo replied miserably, "in my capacity as an advocate of the law, I'm supposed to say that under no circumstances should anyone help another person to die, no matter how desperate the situation might be. Yet while I was listening to Barbara this morning, I couldn't help but think how brave she was. She put the ending of her husband's suffering above every other possible consideration. I suspect that the only thing that would have prevented her from doing the same thing again, was the absolute terror she has of being behind bars. I'm certain that's why Henry took the decision out of her hands, precisely because he didn't want her to go through it all again." "Darling, can I make a suggestion?" George said tentatively. "one that I don't think is going to go down very well." "I'm all ears," Jo said dryly, knowing that if George was even attempting to be tactful, she really wasn't going to like it. "I'm not really sure how to say this," George said carefully. "Because I have no desire whatsoever to insult you as a professional or as a woman, but I think that a little occasional assistance with this case wouldn't go amiss. As a result of the extreme similarity between this case and your previous situation, I think you are going to find it very difficult to remain as emotionally detached as you need to be." There was a long, very stony silence. "Darling, don't look at me like that," George said cajolingly. "you know that I'm saying it purely for your own good, because already I can see this case getting to you, far more than any case ever should." "I can't say I agree with you," Jo replied coldly. "I didn't think you would," George replied with a smile "I'm just asking you to think about it, that's all." "George, that's the whole point about a case like this," Jo said vehemently. "To become as emotionally involved as possible so that I can defend my client to the best of my ability. If I'm going to have any chance of convincing the jury of her innocence, I need to get across to them just how emotionally charged this situation was, and I can't do that whilst remaining as emotionally detached as civil law seems to allow you to be." "And what possible good would it do your client," George said disgustedly, now beginning to lose her cool in the face of Jo's rigidity, "if you completely crack up in the meantime?" "Well, I thank you for the vote of confidence," Jo said acidly. "Darling, I'm just concerned for you," George tried to explain. "I'm not likely to forget just how much the Diana Hulsey case tested your emotional well-being, even though it might have felt as though I didn't notice at the time, and as you said yourself, you are finding it hard to get away from the thought that this could so easily have been you." "Diana Hulsey was different," Jo replied stonily. "Yes, she was," George partly agreed with her. "And believe me, if her situation managed to creep under your armour so successfully, this will be ten times worse." 

After taking a long swig of her drink, Jo said, "if, and only if, I decided to contemplate your suggestion, just who did you have in mind?" "You could do worse," George said carefully, knowing just how much derision this was going to be greeted with. "than to have me take on the role of your junior." "George," Jo said in astonishment, rather unflatteringly only just managing to prevent herself from laughing out loud. "criminal law is hardly your forte." "Thank you darling," George replied dryly. "but I'm hardly useless at it either." "Why?" Jo asked, determined to find any reason for refusing, "why this sudden urge to assist with Barbara's case?" "First because I don't want you to have to go through this alone, and second because Barbara is a friend and I want to help her as much as you do." "George, I need you to understand that I don't want to have to need your help, or anyone's help with this," Jo tried to explain her previous outburst. "I know you don't," George told her gently. "and you might not need it for all I know but maybe I want to take some of the burden away from you. That's not such a bad thing, is it?" "No, I suppose not," Jo replied miserably, feeling a little foolish at her stubbornness, "I get so territorial over a case like this that I don't want to let anyone else near it." "Would it help if I took on some of the donkey work and left you free to concentrate on Barbara?" "Yes, it might," Jo agreed grudgingly. "but you must ask Barbara yourself about this because I think she needs to feel in as much control of her destiny as possible, and I'm still not happy about it, but I can see that this is the only way I'm likely to get a quiet life." "You're learning, darling, you're learning," George said with a smirk, leaning forward to kiss her. Jo badly needed George's warm embrace, the delicious entanglement of their soft and pliable lips. She needed it to take her away from all the horrors of the day, to reaffirm that something good did exist in the midst of this upside-down world, where individuals were now guilty until proven innocent. 


	5. Part Five

A/N: Betaed by Hunca Munca. 

Part Five

On the Thursday morning, Yvonne drove towards Jo's office. The last time she'd been here had been on the day Lauren was remanded in custody, almost two years ago now. It was funny how time flew, she thought to herself, as she moved the Ferrari through the virtually static London traffic. That had been in mid January 2004, and now it was early October 2005 and Lauren had been tried, convicted, and had been released after completing her sentence. Lauren had started her therapy with Meg Richards and was beginning to get back into the work she had been doing with Cassie before Fenner had been killed. She was slowly putting her life back together and Yvonne was proud of her for putting in the effort. Yet now, here they all were, at the beginning of yet another crusade for justice, this time with absolutely no question as to guilt or innocence. There was no way Barbara had killed Henry and anyone who had been in prison with Barbara last time would know this. She had hated every minute of prison, had found it extremely difficult to deal with, therefore she would never have done anything to risk going back there no matter how good the cause might have been. 

When she came to a stop in the car park, she sat for a moment and looked up at the office block in front of her. When she'd been here last, that had meant the beginning of a long and extremely drawn out period of anxiety for her, did this time perhaps mean the same for Barbara? She vehemently hoped not, but being well versed in the ways and probabilities of the law she was inclined to believe it would be. She had talked to Jo the day before and said that there was something she wanted to discuss with her regarding Barbara's case and Jo had said she could spare her half an hour, but Yvonne didn't think it would take that long. As she was escorted upstairs by Jo's secretary, Yvonne tried to keep her thoughts away from how Jo was getting on with George. She knew that George and Karen had broken up a few weeks ago, not because Karen had told her but because Nikki had mentioned it. Karen was obviously avoiding discussing it and Yvonne hadn't wanted to push the issue by asking her. But Yvonne had known this would happen from the day she'd caught Jo buying George's birthday present. So, if George and Karen had broken up, that probably meant that Jo and George were together, along with the Judge. Oh well, she thought ruefully, each to their own. 

As she walked down the corridor and saw Jo standing in her office doorway waiting for her, Yvonne wasn't the only one to experience a feeling of deja vu. Jo could also remember Yvonne's last visit only too well. "Yvonne," she said, offering her usual professional smile. "come on in." "I was just remembering when I was here last," Yvonne found herself admitting. "Yes," Jo said seriously. "so was I. How's Lauren getting on?" "She's going to her sessions with Meg Richards and she's staying out of trouble, but I'm not sure how much good it'll do in the end." "Try to have a little more faith in her, Yvonne. She might have the residue of Charlie's influence very deep down, but she's also got your determination somewhere in there too." "Let's hope so," Yvonne said dryly. "Now, what I really came to see you about was Barbara." "Yes, so you said. I saw her yesterday but I'm all ears for anything else you might be able to tell me." "It's not information I'm here to give you," Yvonne replied, fixing Jo with her penetrating gaze. "I came to let you know, that as long as Barbara agrees, I will be footing the bill for her defence." Jo had been about to take a sip of her coffee but replaced the mug back on the desk. "Yvonne, are you absolutely sure about this?" She asked carefully, her surprise completely outweighing her usual level of tact. "Very," Yvonne said firmly, "there's no way Barbara would ever admit it, but she's going to find it very hard to pay your fees. She would manage it somehow but it wouldn't be easy. Money, or at least Charlie's money, isn't something I like to talk about because I'm ashamed of how he came by it. But if I can use some of it to help get Barbara out of Larkhall, then that's all to the good." Jo didn't know what to say. Yvonne had uttered those words with such sincerity, such humility, that it brought home to her just how much of a change had come over Yvonne since she'd first met her in the lead up to Snowball and Ritchie's trial. "That is extremely generous of you, Yvonne," Jo said eventually. "and I do understand why you want to do it. But before you make your final decision on this, I must make the position as clear as possible to you. To start with, I may not be the only barrister working on this case. When I saw George last night, after seeing Barbara, George drew my attention to just how difficult I am going to find this case. I don't mean professionally but emotionally and, though I am loath to admit it, she does have a point. I don't know how aware you are, of my personal circumstances of a few years ago, but I was once in a similar position to Barbara, in nursing a terminally ill husband. So yes, I am going to find this case far more difficult than most, which is why it has been suggested to me that I take on the equivalent of a junior, to provide me with the necessary support when I should need it." "No, I didn't know," Yvonne replied gently, admiring Jo's courage in taking on such a case in the first place. "George is going to visit Barbara tomorrow, to ask her permission to become involved, and to act as my junior. I don't think George intends to ask for payment for doing this but she would be well within her rights to do so. There is also the question of expert witnesses which at the moment is an unknown quantity." "Jo, it's really not a problem," Yvonne tried to reassure her. "even if Barbara's defence ended up costing two hundred grand, it's hardly going to be a drop in the ocean." "I see," Jo said, her eyes widening slightly. "and you say that Barbara doesn't know about this yet." "No, not yet and if I know Barbara, she'll take a bit of convincing. I'll go and see her with George tomorrow and use my endless powers of persuasion on her." "Once she's come round to the idea it ought to take at least a little bit of the worry away." "Her friends are all the family Barbara's got left now," Yvonne said with feeling, "so it's up to all of us to do whatever we can for her." When Yvonne left a short time later, Jo marvelled at the true sense of togetherness and support that Larkhall women seemed to feel for each other. She knew that this wasn't confined to ex or current inmates because Karen and Helen had always given off this feeling of strength as well. Had their united influence somehow spread to herself and George over the last couple of years, and if so, did it by extension make them better barristers, better people? She couldn't help but to hope that it had. 


	6. Part Six

Part Six

Yvonne had been highly impressed by George's very classy office right near prime shopping area in Knightsbridge as she parked her car in a prized car parking space tucked at the back. She was energized into whizzing into town to do her bit for Babs while Lauren pottered around at home with Trigger. She was led upstairs by her secretary and took a seat in a really smart gaffe with plenty of books and a large painting, above the desk.  
"You better let me talk to Babs about me fronting the money to get her represented. I know what she is like and she wouldn't like to think she is some sort of charity case." "But she's been a vicar's wife?" queried George.  
"Giving, not taking. There's a difference," Came the laconic reply.  
Yvonne was not in her most talkative of moods this morning and George thought she knew why. George turned away to check on the files in her in tray to ensure that she was keeping tabs on the rest of the work that she was handling while Yvonne gazed vacantly out of the large windows. "Okay, my car or yours or both." "Mine. I know the route backward from the number of times I've driven to Larkhall over the years." George assented to the deal and soon, Yvonne's red Ferrari cut its way through the traffic with a determination that George silently approved of. It gave George a change from expending her frustrations with the other drivers who in her more stressed up moods were either ditherers or psychopathic. She could lie back and watch the scenery while the busy city center was left behind as they approached Larkhall. Perhaps Yvonne was one of those silent drivers, reasoned George, although, on second thoughts, Yvonne might have heard about her breakup with Karen. 

The sky was an ugly grey with a sharp wind whipping the first spots of what was clearly a downpour on the way. George shivered and huddled into her smart coat, which took most of the cold and the wind. There were attractions in being inside, even in the drabness of Larkhall.

"What's the score, George? How are we going to explain it to Babs that she's not going to get one high class brief but two?" "Leave that to me, Yvonne." "It's your call," Yvonne responded with an arm gesture, letting her lead the way.  
Ken grinned at the two visitors who passed through the lodge and Yvonne smiled widely when she spotted her old adversary, Bodybag.  
"Might have known that you couldn't keep yourself away from here. You would have thought that you would give up and leave us all in peace. I recognize your friend with you," Bodybag added with a suspicious look.  
"Aaah, Sylvia. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so Charlie wrote to me when I was here. You don't have to worry about our welfare, we can find our way round here." "You've come to see our practicing Christian I suppose," Came the grumpy reply.  
"You know, if you got put out to pasture, just how many mates of yours would pop round for a cup of tea unless you bribed them?" Yvonne shot back with withering scorn. The muscles on her face were perfectly rigid and she kept the sarcasm in her voice playful to not give the fat cow the pleasure that she had got to her.  
George kept quiet, totally enthralled at the cut and thrust between the two of them. She admired how quick witted Yvonne was and it gave her a real insight Bodybag just glowered in anger at the way that that gangster's moll cheeked her for the thousandth time. She always made the mistake of rising to the bait and had never learnt to change her approach after all these years.  
"You wouldn't want us to complain to the management round here?" teased Yvonne allowing just enough of a pause before going in for the kill.  
No love lost there, I see Bodybag stomped away in silence while Yvonne and George made their way to the main block.  
"She falls for it every time. The stupid cow never gives up," joked Yvonne. That sparring match with her old enemy had cheered her up no end.  
"And I thought that the cut and thrust in court was ruthless enough," Agreed George.  
"It wasn't always like this," Yvonne reflected somberly. "I'm on the outside. This place has got Karen and Nikki in charge who really care about the prisoners. I don't ever forget that, not ever."

Barbara was slightly nervous but had started to settle down to Larkhall as much as she could ever do so. The unremitting attention of the Julies and Denny had started to pay off. Perhaps it was that long talk to Jo, which had helped as she had been made very gently and kindly to confront her demons and had brought them to the surface. She had to cling on to the notion that this time was different. That was what had haunted her and dragged her down that, in the eyes of the law, she had repeated her previous offence, a court and jury would infallibly see the matter the same way as the police who arrested her clearly did. Therefore, she might as well be guilty for all the good it did.

"Barbara," Nikki gently asked her when she came over at breakfast time. "Are you feeling up to seeing George in one of the private interview rooms? Yvonne's come along to see you as well. It's going to be chucking down with rain and I don't want anyone to get soaked to the skin outside." "I'm fine, Nikki," Barbara smiled back. "I'd forgotten how kind people could be." Nikki grinned and asked Colin to do escort duty.

Yvonne's arms were outstretched and greeted her old friend with a big hug. It had been a long time since they had met or had seemed so. She could put it down to the busy nature of modern life and the tendency to lead self contained lives outside the prison walls. Nevertheless, she was here now and that was all that mattered.  
"It seems strange seeing you as a visitor, Yvonne. I get confused as to if I'm not back in time to when I was last here." "That bastard Fenner's not around, Babs. That has got to be a bigtime change and a step up in the world," Yvonne responded breezily.  
That was perfectly true, Barbara thought. Why on earth did I not think of that one before? Yvonne and Barbara chatted for a bit in a desultory way when, during a lull in the conversation, George talked quietly in Yvonne's ear to catch her attention.  
"I was going to pop out in a little while and try and mend a few bridges with Karen so at least we can be friends. Might I have a word with Barbara and slip out in a bit." As Yvonne nodded in answer, George looked directly at Barbara to engage her in conversation only Barbara got there first.  
"It's nice to see you again, George, but I assume this is not just a social call," Barbara eventually said. "Ah, thereby hangs a story. I wanted to ask your permission if I could help Jo out a bit with your case." George's smooth tones rolled off her tongue like honey. "My reasoning is entirely educational." "My experience in law has been almost entirely commercial. It has its advantages, such as in brokering deals between large commercial corporations. Between you and me, they are run by childish men with hopelessly overgrown egos. Over the years, I have skinned them for outrageously high commissions that have left me very well provided for in life. Yvonne does not know how much I have lined my pockets over the years. However, the nature of work has changed in recent years and involved much more well paying criminal work. I have often thought to myself that I really must diversify. I am seriously out of touch and the obvious way of gaining experience is with Jo with whom I have become close to over the years. When she was talking quite by chance about your case, the opportunity of a lifetime opened up in front of my eyes. Believe you me, I would not think of accepting a commission for what is, after all, only as junior partner in this case." George can talk the hind legs off a donkey, Yvonne grinned to herself. She's cracked it if I'm not much mistaken, Yvonne thought. She saw Barbara glance over her spectacles at George's perfectly composed expression and smile slightly. "Besides," George continued, softening the artificial edge off her voice.  
"I have got to like you and it is insufferable how those cretins with their size ten boots have perpetrated such an obvious injustice. I want to help out and I am easily in the position to do so." Barbara was genuinely touched by George's kindness and could tell that it was real. And bowed to the inevitable. Yvonne darted one of her sharp glances and could see that underneath all the blarney uttered in the sort of accent of the finest finishing school, George had a large heart. She could see why Karen had fallen for her. "Well, if you are insisting, I cannot refuse your help," Barbara uttered in a highly emotional tone. She had not looked for, or expected that help like this would be offered so unselfconsciously by these three very strong, very kind women. It restored her faith in God and humanity, which had been under such strain for all those terrible months. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.  
At this point, George made a polite exit and arranged to catch up with Yvonne and Barbara smiled gratefully at her.

"Everything going well, George?" Nikki grinned at George.  
"So far, so good. Can you tell me if Karen is busy?" George's voice trailed off uncertainly after her confident smile.  
"I'll check and take you to her room myself." Nikki had no idea why George would be seeing Karen but a voice in her head told her to trust her instincts and to pave the way. "Anyway, I've got some business as well," Grinned Yvonne when she was alone with Barbara. "I've fixed it with Jo that I'm going to front her bill for your defence. You do realize that, don't you?" "But I couldn't possibly let you do that, Yvonne. It will cost a fortune on top of what it must have cost you for Lauren," Protested Barbara.  
"Just relax, Babs. You've never really known just how much money I've got put away, down to the last thousand pounds give or take a few thousand." Barbara shook her head. She had heard on the 'old girls network' about Yvonne's house and her villa in Spain but very little more. It was not talked about in that great leveling experience of prison and, outside prison, Yvonne didn't boast about her wealth. It was just there, to be ploughed into whatever was best.  
"I was married to Charlie for twenty years and can you imagine the money that poured in with him as middleman for the East end drugs trade. Add in all his dodgy deals, the legit car hire trade that I still run which kept the taxman sweet, while he got away with fiddles left right and center. Even with the way that we lived, the money has been pouring in for years. You can take it from me that Jo's bill would make a bit of a dent in the bank balance but no more. I ain't the type to brag and I've never told you this before but only to convince you that I'll be all right. In any case, Lauren's earning good money these days so Jo's last bill was a sort of investment if you think of it this way." Barbara sat back in admiration. She had thought that she had known Yvonne but she was relating specifics of her life that were vaguely there but had not been brought up into quite such hard, sharp focus. She did not know what to think.  
"It's not just that, Babs. So much of the money has come from the human misery from the drugs trade. I never saw what it really meant. I was protected from all that till I came to Larkhall. I used to go on about junkies and smackheads but that was my way of covering up for the way that Charlie and I were responsible for all that. I can't get away from it. So if I see a mate of mine who needs a helping hand, I can plough in some of the money which came from human misery into something worthwhile." There was a profound silence after Yvonne's throaty, emotional outpouring of guilt. She could see that Barbara was slowly turning what Yvonne had said over in her mind.  
"It seems that I have no choice," Barbara said slowly with the faintest of smiles. In a very paradoxical way these two most unusual explanations of the sort of hard life that were not according to her upbringing contained the most golden hearted selfless propositions to help her that she had ever heard in her life. A beam of sunshine started to break through that black mist that had closed her in, something that was not lost on Yvonne. 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Betaed by Hunca Munca. 

Part Seven

As Nikki led the way up to Karen's office, George couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive. She knew that she had to see Karen and clear the air sometime, but that didn't make it a very encouraging prospect. She badly wanted to remain friends with Karen, so she knew that she would do whatever it took. "Are you sure Karen will want to see me?" She asked Nikki, suddenly needing to verbalise her uncertainty. "Of course she will," Nikki told her with an encouraging smile. "She might not admit it," She added, putting out a hand to halt George in her tracks. "But she needs her friends, probably more than she ever did." "I've treated her so badly," George said quietly, finally putting the regret she'd been feeling for weeks into words. "No, you haven't," Nikki assured her. "Not really. George, these things happen, and she will get over it." 

Karen was sitting at her computer, trying to keep on top of the endless requests for statistics from area. Anyone would think she had been trained as a mathematician, not a prison officer. She'd kept popping down to G wing throughout the week, trying to keep an eye on Barbara, though she knew that Nikki had everything perfectly in hand. She had recovered from the effects of the morning after pill, which she couldn't help but think had been her punishment. She never should have slept with John, and she certainly shouldn't have done what she had done with him. That had been wrong on so many levels that it made her feel an enormous sense of shame every time she thought about it. When she'd seen Jo on Wednesday, Karen could already see just how much Barbara's case was getting to her, and it worried her more than a little that Jo might not be able to emotionally last out the course. When the knock came on her door, she bade whoever it was to enter, without a clue as to who it might be. It could have been any one of her officers or wing governors, but it was Nikki. "Someone to see you," she said, opening the door wide and gesturing the person behind her into the room. As Karen turned to face them, her eyes widened in shock. "George," was all she appeared to be able to say, stating the bloody obvious. "I thought it was about time I dropped into see you," George said, seeing the distinct uncertainty in Karen's face. "I'll leave you to it," Nikki put in, backing out of the room, all too eager to escape from the tension that could be cut with a knife. "You look tired," George observed, taking a seat in front of the desk. "No, not really," Karen told her, though this was blatantly a lie. "Just busy, that's all. How are you?" "Oh, all right," George said evasively, not entirely sure that Karen would want to hear just how happy she was with Jo. "I'm here with Yvonne," She continued. "Visiting Barbara. Jo isn't the only QC Barbara will have on her case." "She couldn't ask for anything better in the circumstances," Karen told her quietly, meaning every word. "And I'm glad you'll be taking some of the strain off Jo, because when I saw her on Wednesday, she looked as though the first hurdle had been just a little too high for comfort." "Yes," agreed George, more than a little relieved that they'd move onto a neutral topic. "I don't think emotional detachment is going to be very easy for her this time." "What about you?" Karen asked, finally meeting George's eyes. "Oh, you know me," George replied lightly. "The commitment I give to one case is the same as any other, though the fact that I already know Barbara may make this a little different. But at least it isn't going to resurrect the kind of memories for me that it will with Jo." "How are things with Jo?" Karen asked, hitting on the precise thing that George really didn't want to talk about. "Fine," she said, seeing nothing but kind interest in Karen's eyes. "Good," Karen said sincerely. "I do want it to work out for you two, you know, or should I say you three," she added with a smile. "I know you do," George replied with a smile in return. "And it is, so far." 

As Karen looked into George's soft, blue eyes, the guilt at what she had done with John at the conference suddenly rose up in her, giving her the insane urge to confess all to George, to tell her again and again that she was sorry. But passing a hand in front of her face, she managed to dispel the impulse, because she knew deep down that this really wouldn't solve anything, and might in fact create far more problems than they already had. George saw the brief flash of something she didn't understand in Karen's face, but no sooner did she open her mouth to question it, than it was gone. "What have you been up to besides work?" George asked, wondering just how Karen had been filling her spare time. "Not a lot," Karen said evasively. "After taking three weeks off, I had an enormous amount to catch up on. That, and preparing for last week's conference, at which Nikki managed to prove that taking her on was possibly the one thing I've got right in the last few months." "Darling, I know that you often use work as something to hide behind," George said tentatively, unconsciously slipping into the familiarity she'd once been so used to with Karen. "But try not to make it the only thing you live for." "George, I know what you're trying to do," Karen said gently but firmly. "But work is about the only thing that keeps me going at the moment, and I think that for a while, that's how it needs to stay." 

A little while later as Karen escorted George back down to the visiting area, George felt a deep seated regret that she could no longer hold Karen, that she could no longer try to take away some of the pain that was clearly still eating away at her. Karen was giving out the strongest vibe George had ever felt in her to keep off, to stay away, at least physically if nothing else. George wasn't so self-obsessed to think this was purely for her benefit, because she suspected this was Karen's way of keeping everyone she knew at a distance. But just before they reached the last set of gates, when they were still alone in the dingy corridor, George put out a hand to halt Karen in her tracks, wanting to say something more to her before they parted. "It sounds dreadfully inadequate," she said, knowing this was going to come out all wrong. "But I am really very concerned about you." "There's no need," Karen told her gently, giving her a soft smile of reassurance. "I'll survive." Impulsively putting her arms out, George gave Karen a firm embrace. "Please don't hide away from me," She said, her voice filled with all the regret she'd kept bottled up over the last few weeks. Karen had frozen at the initial contact, the physical connection with George almost being too much for her to bear, her arms bringing back so many memories that she was trying to forget. But very slowly, she raised her own arms to go around George's smaller frame, holding her almost delicately for fear of what such contact with her might achieve. "It's still very hard for me to see you," Karen said softly into George's hair. "That doesn't mean that I want you to stay away, because I don't, but you need to understand, that I am still trying not to remember everything we ever did together. It will get easier, because it has to, it just might take a while." "I'm sorry," George replied, feeling bitterly guilty that she could have hurt Karen so much. "George," Karen replied firmly, holding George slightly away from her by the shoulders. "Trust me, if there's anyone who needs to be sorry at the moment, it really isn't you." Again that rush of feelings rose up in her, because she hadn't only done John a grave injustice by sleeping with him, but both Jo and George as well. As she watched George walk through the visiting room to where Yvonne was waiting for her, Karen couldn't help but wonder whether, if George did find out about the conference, she would ever forgive her. 

In the car, Yvonne could feel the silence weighing heavy on George. She had obviously talked to Karen, and it looked like things had been left as tense as they had been before. In truth, Yvonne really couldn't blame George for what had happened with Karen, because these things happened, and the course of true love, or love of any kind, never did run smooth. Seeming to realise what Yvonne was thinking, George broke the silence. "I didn't mean to hurt her, you know, Yvonne." "No, I know you didn't," Yvonne replied gently. "These things happen. Jo probably didn't tell you, but I caught her in the act of buying your birthday present." George couldn't help but laugh. "Did you?" "Yeah." Yvonne said, joining her in a smile. "She nearly had a heart attack when I crept up on her, it was hilarious." "Oh, poor Jo," George said in sympathy. Then, turning serious again, she said, "I just wish Karen wasn't hurting so much." "She'll get over it," Yvonne said with quiet certainty. "Because she hasn't really got any choice. It's funny, but if Lauren hadn't killed Fenner, you and Karen might never have happened, and if the three of you hadn't made her grass up my daughter, we might still have been together." George just stared at Yvonne, utterly aghast. How on earth did Yvonne know this? "Don't look like that," Yvonne said almost fondly. "I've known about that for quite a long time." "How?" George asked, her brain seeming to freeze with the effort of trying to work out this puzzle. "Ah, now, that would mean breaking my word of honour, which isn't something I'm about to do," Yvonne said firmly, realising that she would need to tell George that she'd slept with John if she were to go any further. "Does Karen know you know?" George asked, wondering just where Yvonne had stumbled on such sensitive information. "Yeah, she knows," Yvonne told her. "And it's something that's dead and buried now, if that isn't a particularly tasteless pun." After a moment's silence, she said, sounding kinder than George had ever heard her, "Jo told me the real reason why you're working on Barbara's case, though I have to admire the alternative reason you gave her." "If Jo ever wants Barbara to know something like that," George replied seriously. "That's for her to decide, certainly not you or me. So, I had to come up with something that sounded at least vaguely plausible." "You can talk the bleedin' hind legs off a donkey," Yvonne said with a broad smile. "Am I suppose to take that as a compliment?" George said with a laugh. "Oh, yeah," Yvonne assured her. "Always a nice little skill to find in one's lawyer." "Yvonne," George said tentatively as they arrived back in the car park of her office. "Whilst I realise that you may hold a certain amount of resentment for the way I have treated Karen, I don't want it to prevent us from working together to help Barbara." Sensing this to be the olive branch it was, Yvonne gave George a smile. "Getting Barbara out of Larkhall, is the only thing that matters," She said firmly. "Besides," She added with a raised eyebrow. "It won't be the first time Atkins money has paid your fees, now will it." "No, I suppose not," George agreed, wondering how she could ever have defended Yvonne's son and his tart, and yet now she was working on the same side as his mother. How times changed, she thought as she crossed the car park to her office, wondering just how much they would have changed again in another two years time. 


	8. Chapter 8

Part Eight

It hadn't taken Barbara too long to get the measure of Larkhall as it now was.

As the first few days crawled their way at an interminably slow pace, the dormant patterns in her mind intruded themselves from unlock first thing in the morning to the slamming shut of her cell door at night. Part of her rebelled into accepting her lot but realism told her that bashing her head, time and time again, against her fate was as useful as a goldfish trying to head butt his way through the glass shell of a goldfish bowl. That gentle voice of the other side of her that uneasily coexisted inside her, the Christian stoic, began to be heard. The more she accepted her fate, the more that her panic reaction died down inside her and her claustrophobia diminished, day by day. She had no choice but to accept her lot in life and she started to sleep like a log through the night to make up for that frantic drive within her to see her through the barred windows somehow, anyhow. In fact, she started to wake up, feeling bleary eyed in her own way to make up for lost sleep.

Her visitors, first Jo, then George and Yvonne provided that comfort blanket that she had not been utterly deserted and dissolved away that nightmarish feeling of being abandoned. She dare not move beyond the fear that her cosy nest where she had been happy was frozen in time, from when she had last seen it before the police took her away in a white car and sirens blaring as if she were a desperate criminal. In its place, Larkhall imposed its dreary uniformity on her. After all, she had been here before when the prison regime was much nastier, more casually unjust, where the screws were someone to avoid and, at best tolerate. 

Out of sheer habit, she kept looking out of the corner of her eye to see if that sinister black shape and that hated voice would jump into her consciousness. He had been the personification of all that had repelled her about Larkhall, him and Shell Dockley. She had to convince herself that he had really gone. After all, she had only been at Lauren's trial for his murder. As for Shell Dockley, she had been spirited out of Larkhall never to return. Larkhall wasn't so bad, it was well just prison.

The only real problem she had was Bodybag. They had never got on from the start. It might have been that thanks to the stupid woman's incompetence, she had received a slating from Karen due to her mix up with Tessa Spall but, as Nikki confided to her later on, her problem was in being who she was. Anyone who was clearly middle class and intelligent roused Bodybag's sense of inferiority so that it came out in that malignant manner of hers. Nikki being a lesbian and able to run rings round her was only the icing on the cake, so to speak. But Nikki was G wing's wing governor now. Barbara smiled fondly at the idea. She wondered if one minor reason for Nikki's choice of profession was out of mischievous humour. She wouldn't put it past her.

"OK, Hunt, stop dawdling. I haven't got all day," Came that hated voice.  
"The name's Mills now, if you please," Came her frosty reply.  
"Hunt you were, and Hunt you will always be. A leopard never changes its spots. Might have known you would end up here"  
"You really ought to get my name right, Mrs. Hollamby. You should know that accidents can happen"  
Barbara's voice on the outside seemed superficially in her normal mild tone of voice but inwardly, she was raging and a slight tremor in her voice showed her feelings. She had hit a nerve in Bodybag as she hadn't forgotten that blazing tone and those angry blue eyes, which had raged at her. Her memory was retentive in one direction only, in recalling all the slights to her authority and being hauled over the coals by authority figures. Most of all, Bodybag remembered the handsome father figure of a vicar who would have warmed her autumn years. No one knew the depression of spirit of being widowed and lonely and the way that Hunt woman had not only ended up with one husband but three. It was disgusting.  
"I'm making no mistake about you. You should never have been allowed to get your claws into poor Henry. He didn't know what he was letting himself in for but he was naïve. Vicars are other worldly and don't know how life really is"  
Barbara could not bear to hear any more from that abominable woman and turned away to stalk off in the other direction. She didn't want to end up striking her and end up down the block in her first week. Fortunately, fate in the kindly form of Colin Hedges came to her aid. "I'd get in the queue for the canteen or the tea and breakfast will get cold," He suggested the ideal getaway clause to Barbara. "Nothing like it, a nice cup of tea to set you up right for the day"  
A very slight smile at the corner of his lips betrayed his real reason for strolling over. Bodybag tut tutted in exasperated anger and stomped off to the prison reception to hopefully hector and bully the new prisoners in their induction, all in the name of good order and discipline.

Barbara automatically placed her hands either side of the regulation blue tray and trudged her way forward to where the Julies were smiling kindly at her.

To their practiced eyes, even though they were dishing up the bangers and fried eggs to one prisoner after another, one glance from either of them took in the expression on Babs's face. She hadn't got those shadows under her eyes and her skin had a bit of colour in it, not that dreadful grey colour and her skin sort of sweaty. She was a bit more, like, upright and awake.  
"We've got eggs, sunny side up, just the way you like it," Julie Johnson greeted her.  
Barbara was just about ready to make the necessary compromises of her stomach with prison food though it was tough going. Barbara smiled slightly though she looked warily at the rather overblown looking sausages.  
"You need to get a decent breakfast down you or you'll fade away to a shadow," Julie Saunders followed up the message in her motherly way. How could Barbara resist though? Her blue plastic mug filled with hot tea was more promising.  
"Talk to you later, love," Julie Johnson added with a winning smile, which made Barbara reproach herself. How could she be removed and distant from their warm hearted and sunny natures?

Barbara found herself sitting opposite Kris Yates whose manner reminded her of someone who she couldn't place. In turn, Kris glanced at Barbara and decided she was harmless. To the woman's suspicious and wary nature, that word was a real compliment.  
"Mind if I sit here"  
"No skin off my nose," Came the reply from Kris, as she shrugged her shoulders in total indifference. "You're new here?" she added after a chill silence was punctuated by them eating and drinking. It was more an expectation of agreement than a question.  
"As a matter of fact, I'm not"  
Kris raised her eyebrows in surprise. To her way of thinking, the mild mannered well-spoken woman looked more at home at a church fete than locked behind bars. "By the way, my name is Barbara Mills though I was known as Barbara Hunt and still am known by that by Bodybag, that stupid woman who thank God has gone elsewhere"  
"Kris Yates." An outstretched hand and something of a welcoming smile greeted Barbara at the acid tone in Barbara's voice. "So how did you land back here"  
"The vicar here, Reverend Mills, I mean my husband unhappily died of lung cancer." There you are, the words were out. Lame and inadequate though they were, she had said them for the first time in normal conversation.  
"So what's that got to do with you?" Kris asked incredulously in her terse, sceptical fashion. "They think that because I assisted my second husband when he was in total agony to end his life quicker than the cancer was killing him, I did the same this time"  
"They must be joking," Kris exclaimed in her own rough and ready sympathy. There was the thought she was searching for. Sharing a cell with Nikki had shown her that behind Nikki's occasional hard edge, was a woman with a large heart. This woman was just a younger, less polished version of her, more guarded "I would never risk coming back to prison, not even for poor Henry's sake. If I'm convicted, I might never get out of prison this time." Kris didn't know how to respond to the tremor in Barbara's voice but unknown to her, the look of sympathy on her face was answer enough. All Barbara's hard won skills in orienting herself fast to new situations were being rapidly dusted down now she was back in Larkhall. In turn, Kris could never tell this woman a load of shit, like everything would come out all right in the end, as she mistrusted life in all its forms.

Presently, she found a way out of the brooding silence between the two of them as she started to thread two and two together. She could have sworn she'd seen Yvonne pass across her line of vision in a flash of movement.  
"Did you know Yvonne Atkins seeing as you were here before"  
"Oh yes, we were great friends and we still are. She was here the other day to visit me as a matter of fact"  
A broad smile spread across Kris's face. Yvonne had told her a few stories about the old days. This woman was all right.

Bodybag was daydreaming about her retirement cottage by the sea while keeping half an eye on the job. Chance would be a fine thing with Wade and Betts on her back all the time. You're best off where you are, Jim, she sighed. At least you are in the great prison officer retirement home in the sky and you can be in the company of all who have gone before us. You can catch up with all the gossip, drink as much as you want and never have to worry about do gooder types and all the cons who've abused and slandered you all down the years. If only……… "You ought to be ashamed of yourself"  
"Yeah, you ought"  
"Now then, now then. What's this all about?" blustered Bodybag in her unnecessarily rhetorical fashion as two voices burst into her scrambled consciousness. Barbara had readily poured her heart out to the Julies. They were so good, so reassuring and they had been around when she and Henry's paths had become intertwined by slow stages. They were hopeless romantics and she and the vicar were made for each other. They were horrified to hear what happened to him had happened to her Peter. Some women had all the bad luck and she was dead good. She didn't deserve it and when they had heard what that evil cow was spouting about, they flew out of the cell and were down on the wing in seconds. There she was, just gawping into space. They resolved to give her a piece of their minds. "As if you don't know. You've been horrible to Babs when she's been pining for her poor husband"  
"Pining, yeah"  
"A load of sentimental poppycock. She's as guilty as sin. It's in her nature, no matter how Christian she pretends she is." The lofty tone with which Bodybag tried to crush the other two women and the heavy- duty sarcasm with which she emphasised 'Christian' only infuriated the Julies more than ever.  
"You evil old witch…" stormed Julie Johnson.  
"You'll be down the block if you don't watch your step"  
"And who's going to do my adjudication? Provocation, that's what I would plead, mate. I'd walk it and you know it." Julie Johnson silently nudged the other woman. They had an unspoken agreement not to put their old mate Nikki on the spot but her blood pressure was roused to boiling point and the words just came from her mouth.  
"Can you imagine, your nearest and dearest just wasting away, nothing you can do about it"  
"That's what happened last time, and she got three and a half million pounds"  
"Babs ain't got three and a half million pounds now. That was grabbed back that she didn't give to set up that half way house. The vicar talked posh, no doubt about it but they ain't rich, not going by one I had as a punter. You could see the mothballs coming out of his trouser pockets, and all"  
"You're living in cloud cuckoo land about that woman"  
Julie Saunders looked sharply at Bodybag. There was a slight wobble in her voice that was new and suddenly, a flood of memories came back about the amorous Bodybag making a very blatant play for the vicar and think she wasn't noticed. A very satisfied smile spread over her face. 

"You're jealous, that's what it's all about. I remember. Me and Ju have been here for simply ages and we don't forget, just like Yvonne"  
The words from Julie Saunders were a real crusher. On the one hand, the name of Bodybag's worst enemy made her blood pressure rise and on the other, she felt awkward and school girlish when she remembered what she had felt for Henry. "Why, she's blushing," They chorused as a red faced Bodybag beat a hasty retreat.

So intent were the three of them on the ding-dong row that they had not observed Nikki move quietly closer to them. A smile spread across her face as she let matters resolve themselves.

"Is there anything going on here that I need to know, Julies"  
"No, everything's going just fine," They chorused together for a change.  
"Good. That's what I like to hear," Retorted Nikki as she strolled nonchalantly away. 


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Betaed by Hunca Munca. 

Part Nine

On the Saturday evening, John thought it was about time he went over to see George. He had positively avoided both George and Jo all week, ever since he had returned from the conference, and he knew that he had to see at least one of them. He had been persistently swamped with feelings of guilt and confusion all week, feelings that kept him from sleep, and which intruded in on him during the daylight hours. It was very late on the Saturday night when he finally decided to drive over to see George, but he just couldn't go another night without a soft, warm, beautiful woman in his arms. He needed to feel her silky soft skin, to smell the oh so familiar fragrance of her hair, and to take comfort in simply having her with him. He wasn't sure why he'd picked on George rather than Jo, except that he knew that being with Jo would make him feel even more guilty than he already did. 

George was already in bed when he arrived, it being just after eleven, but she wasn't asleep. She recognised the sound of his approaching car through the slightly open window, and smiled when he let himself quietly in through the front door. She was nice and warm under the duvet, and found it a distinct advantage that she didn't have to get out of bed to let him in. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of John all week, and as far as she knew, neither had Jo. George wasn't stupid, however, because she thought that she just might know why. George had all but resigned herself to John's infidelities years ago, seeing it as something she simply had to put up with, if she wanted him to stay with her. That had obviously changed with the appearance of Jo, but it didn't make George any less realistic about how he might have behaved at the conference. There would have been far too many temptations, far too many opportunities to allow his ever roving eye to wander. 

When John appeared in the bedroom, George smiled up at him. "I wondered when I might be seeing you," She said, as he leant down to kiss her. "You weren't asleep?" He asked, delighting in the familiarity of her. "No," She replied with a contented yawn. "Not yet, and I could easily be persuaded to fully wake up again," she added, smirking at him lasciviously, as he began removing his clothes. "I don't doubt," He said, laying his clothes on a chair and turning back the duvet. When they met under the goose-feather quilt, he wrapped himself round her, holding her soft, warm body to him, and burying his face in her hair. "You're nice and warm," he said, gently kissing her. "And you're freezing," she almost complained. "It's supposed to be the other way round. It's men who are there to provide warmth, not usually women." "Too true," he agreed with her, remembering the numerous occasions on which her cold feet would, as if of their own accord, find any vaguely warm part of his legs to which to attach themselves. "You've been hiding this week," she told him gently, immediately feeling the slight stiffening in his muscles. "I've just been very busy," he said evasively. "How was the conference?" She asked, wondering just how far he would go to avoid telling her the truth. "Good," he said without hesitation. "Nikki will go far if she keeps making speeches like she did last weekend." As though to prevent her from asking any more questions, he began kissing her again, their mouths deeply entwining and exploring, exchanging their old familiar tastes as they did their love. "I've missed you," she said between kisses, not having been this close to him for well over a week. "Are you sure you haven't just missed a good orgasm?" He asked her with a fond smile. "Oh, no," She said confidently. "I had one of those on Wednesday." John laughed softly. "I can't wait until Jo is ready for us all to be together." "It'll happen," George promised him. "Just give her time." "Can I help it if I want to overdose on pleasure?" He asked, his left hand softly stroking her breast, teasing at the steadily rising nipple. "Which reminds me, I think it's about time I went flat hunting. We've taken far too many risks with my being at the digs, and if I have my own place, we'll all be on something of an equal footing." "Well, as long as it's got room for a truly enormous bed," George said matter-of-factly. "That would of course be my primary consideration," John said silkily, his hand creeping between her legs, making her groan with pleasure as he sought out her hidden depths. 

But as her arousal grew, she wanted to have him join her, not to take what he was giving her alone. She wanted them to reach their orgasm together, to achieve their peak in the age old way. But as her hand reached for him, wanting to guide his corresponding arousal towards her, she received the surprise of her life. John wasn't remotely erect, as soft and unresponsive as the day he was born. As soon as she touched him, John went perfectly still, every hint of a smile completely draining from his face. Swiftly detaching himself from her, he turned away and lay on his back, refusing to meet her eyes. He couldn't believe this had happened to him. After all these years, of being so confident, so sure of himself when it came to women, he had now reached that age of being unable to satisfy one. George wasn't entirely sure what to say. This was the first time this had happened to John with her, and she could feel his utter self-loathing raising higher and higher walls between them. Gently turning John's face towards her, she said, "It really doesn't matter, you know." "And that has to be the most fatuous thing I've ever heard you say," John replied bitterly, still refusing to look at her. "John, I've lost count of the times I haven't felt like it." "That's different," he muttered disgustedly. "Don't be ridiculous," she told him fondly. "I... I... I'm sorry," he said, his voice extremely unsteady, and when she again turned his face towards her, she could see the tears shining in his eyes. "Darling, you don't need to be sorry," she told him, feeling an enormous wave of sympathy for his plight. "Promise me you won't tell Jo about this," he begged her, feeling more pathetic than he ever had done in his life. "No, of course I won't," she said, for now content to reassure him if that was what he wanted. "I really don't know what's brought this on," he said, trying to regain his composure. "You're probably just tired," she said, looking for the most obvious of reasons. "That's supposed to be your excuse," he replied almost petulantly. "You could of course," George said carefully. "Tell me what happened at that conference last weekend." "How do you know anything did?" He asked, seeing nothing in her eyes to reassure him. "John, I always know," George told him not unkindly. "Or at least, I always know when you feel guilty about it. I didn't know, the time you caught the Chlamydia, because you didn't feel guilty, but I think you do this time, and I think that might be your problem." 

Realising that he was well and truly caught, he took her hand in his, gently chafing it as he tried to formulate some kind of an answer. "I slept with someone," he said eventually, wincing at the sheer uselessness of his reply. "Yes, darling, that much is obvious." "I slept with Karen," he clarified, George's eyes widening at his words. "Ah," She said in understanding. "The puzzle begins to unravel. I should have known that sending you two off to a conference without a chaperone was a bad idea. So, was there a reason for it, or did the forbidden lust simply overwhelm the pair of you." "To give Karen her due, I did all the running." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" George asked disgustedly. "You wanted answers," John insisted. "So I'm giving them to you. She was on the hunt for someone to sleep with all weekend. She didn't go out of her way to advertise it, but it was pretty obvious to anyone who knew her. I think she wanted the release, far more than the company itself." "That's hardly a surprise," George put in, seeing partly where this was going, though wishing John could have left well alone. "When I finally cornered her on the Sunday night, she pointed out that I had far more to lose than she did." Here John stopped, not knowing if George would really want to hear the next bit. "And what was your response?" She asked, sensing his hesitation. "I told her, that you, and Jo, and her self-respect would all be there tomorrow." "Well, that is nice," George said a little acidly. "Go on, I'm truly fascinated now." "Do you remember what she did, the first time she slept with Ritchie Atkins?" "As if I'll ever forget," George said dryly. "That was what she wanted from me." "Again, that's not exactly surprising," George amazed him by saying. "If the release was really what she wanted, then asking you to be rough with her would probably be her chosen course of action." "She said that what I did with her last time just wouldn't work. She didn't want any time to think, because if she were allowed to think, she wouldn't enjoy it whatsoever. George, she gave me every possible opportunity to say no, but I, somewhat arrogantly, thought I knew what I was doing." "And did you find to your cost, that you didn't have a clue?" George asked, now seeing precisely what must have happened. "That's never happened to me before," he said quietly, as if not quite able to believe it. "Not with a woman. Even up to the last possible minute, she asked if I was sure this was what I wanted, because she knew exactly what I was about to do to her. The feeling of doing that, actually holding her down, was incredible, but it frightened the living daylights out of me. George, I couldn't have stopped if I'd tried, not even if she'd begged me to stop. It was as though my body completely took over, which I suppose in a way it did. Afterwards, I couldn't believe what I'd done. Her arms and shoulders were covered in bruises, and I had given them to her. She felt so guilty, and probably still does, because she could see what it had done to me. I got my punishment for that night, by feeling more like Fenner than I ever thought possible. That feeling goes far and above anything either you or Jo could say to me. I really did feel as though I'd raped her. She kept assuring me that what I'd done wasn't remotely similar, and having had the last few days to think about it, I know she's right, but that doesn't make me feel any better. I'm sorry I slept with her, and I know I shouldn't have done it, but this was about far more than just picking someone up. This was about giving a friend what she needed, because achieving the kind of emotional release it gave her, could so easily have been catastrophic with a perfect stranger. I'm not trying to excuse it, but I am trying to explain it, there is a difference." "In your world of reality, darling, I've no doubt," George said dryly, though she could see that he was giving her the absolute truth. 

"You mustn't be cross with her for this, George, please. Karen gave me plenty of time to say no, and she feels even more guilty about it than I do." "What I ought to do," George said a little exasperatedly, "is to shake some sense into the pair of you. What you did was incredibly stupid. For you, because you assumed you knew what you were doing and blatantly didn't, and for Karen, because that really isn't the way to start living again. She's beginning to use sex in almost the same way as you do, to regain just a little hint of normality. I ought to be furious with both of you, but I'm not, because in an odd kind of way I understand it. When I saw Karen yesterday, she kept opening her mouth to tell me something, and changing her mind at the last minute. I'm guessing that this was it. Yes, John, part of me is bitterly hurt that you could put your promise on hold so easily, but then sometimes I wonder why I expect you to be any different. The rest of me thoroughly understands why you did that for her, because you hold friendship in far higher esteem than you do anything else, you always have done. Karen is still grieving, still hurting, and desperately trying to find anything to stop her dwelling on all the unanswered questions. Yesterday was the first time I'd seen her or spoken to her, since we returned from Spain, but I could see it immediately. I know that you did that for her, because she is a friend, nothing more. I also think, though I'm willing to bet I could be wrong, that you couldn't get in the mood tonight, because you are subconsciously afraid of doing to me what you did to Karen." John flinched when she referred to his inability to perform, the muscles of his hand tensing in protest. "And don't flinch like that," she added a lot more gently. "It is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of." "That's all you know," He told her bitterly. "Oh, and what has always been your response on the numerous occasions I have failed to become remotely aroused? You've always said that it doesn't matter. So, start taking a leaf out of your own book for a change. It happens, John, and I'm not even slightly insulted, or hurt, or bewildered that it has." "If you're about to put me into the same category as Haughton, stop right there," John said firmly. "Well, no, I wasn't," she replied, resisting the urge to shake him. "Because it used to happen to him on a fairly regular basis." "Really?" John asked, a slight smirk playing over his face. "Yes, I thought that might cheer you up," she said wryly. "John, just like the rest of us mere mortals, you are not infallible, and your body will not always do precisely what you tell it to do. I realise that this may come as a shock, but I can promise you that it is a plain and simple fact of life." 

Putting his arms round her, John held her to him, gently kissing her. "I'm sorry for sleeping with Karen," he said, truly meaning it. "I know," George replied quietly. "Anyone else, and I'd have been tempted to wring your neck, but I can at least understand why with Karen." "And I'm sorry I couldn't..." he stopped, not entirely sure how to phrase it. "Don't be," She told him firmly. "And John, I don't want you to feel any pressure to make love to me. You obviously need some time to come to terms with what happened with Karen, so take it." "I really don't want Jo to know about any of this," he said earnestly. "And I'm not about to tell her, I promise." "I don't just mean about Karen." "I know," she said, softly touching his cheek. "It wouldn't put her off, you know." "I don't care," John insisted vehemently. "I'd die of humiliation if Jo knew about this." "Why?" George asked with a slight laugh. "It's different with you," John tried to explain. "You're used to my imperfections." "Oh, and you think Jo isn't? John, Jo loves you, just as I love you, and we are both entirely aware of each and every one of your imperfections, and, amazing as it might be, we are both still here." "You've always been far more realistic about my playing away," John said quietly. "Something I often regret, because I wish you didn't have to be like that." "Yes, well, I've had to put up with it in a very different way to Jo, haven't I. When we were married, I got used to it, because I realised that it was the only way to keep you with me. I could ignore it most of the time, well, until Jo, but Jo has never had to even attempt to do that. Even when she wouldn't sleep with you for all those years, part of Jo still expected you to be faithful to her, and she couldn't deal with it when you weren't. That's the only reason I take a slightly different stance with regard to your flings, which I am well aware are very few and far between these days. There is absolutely no reason for Jo to know about this, because she wouldn't understand it. So no, I'm not going to tell her." 

As they slowly drifted off to sleep, John sent up a brief prayer of thanks for this beautiful woman he had cradled against him, for the love she unerringly bestowed on him, and for the forgiveness and understanding she was continuously prepared to accord him. He would try and do something normal with her tomorrow, perhaps they might go looking for the flat he intended to acquire. She'd told him that he needed time, before even thinking of making love to her again, and much as he was loathed to admit it, she was right. He inwardly cursed his body for betraying him, for deserting him when he needed it most, but she hadn't scorned him, and she hadn't even been all that angry with him for sleeping with Karen. What had he ever done to deserve someone so beautiful, so understanding and with such a generous heart? These were questions that he simply couldn't answer. All that seemed to matter right now was that he was here, with George, and that out there somewhere was Jo. But just as his eyes began to close, an idea popped into his head, an almost frightening possibility that he knew on the morrow he must consider. Was it time, could it actually be time, to put his pride to one side, and try again to understand himself, to seek another's help in untangling the patterns and pathways that made up his mind? Therapy with Rachel Crawchek had been a disaster, because he had been determined to go into it with the provision of a get-out clause. But what if he didn't, what if this time, he went into it blind, with no possible way out, and with a promise at least to himself that he would see it through? 


	10. Chapter 10

Part Ten 

"It's time for bed. Auntie Lauren is coming over tomorrow," Roisin called out in her carrying voice up the staircase as she received a phone call late on Saturday night.  
"Oh, brilliant," Michael grunted with a scowl on his face as he shambled off upstairs to bed. Niamh shook her head in wonder at him as she reached for her library book and looked down the staircase. She couldn't make him out at all these days. One moment, he was this moody stranger who flew off the handle for no reason at all and other times, he was the happy go lucky kid that he used to be. A distant memory came back when mum was in prison and they were living with Aiden and grandma. She couldn't understand what was going on and she was acting like a spoilt brat over nothing in particular, Michael was pleading with her not to make so much noise. While she was grizzling away in the corner of the room, she could hear Michael on the phone to mum and pleading with her to come back home. Now Michael was becoming the childish one while she was the sensible one. If this was growing older, she wanted nothing to do with it but to stay as she was.

In the morning, she was up early while Michael was still in bed and she looked forward to the reassuring normality of family breakfast at the table.

"We'd love to see Lauren. We've not seen her for simply ages." Niamh started to chatter away while Michael pulled a face. Cassie pretended not to notice and poured out a cup of tea for herself and Roisin who was still in the kitchen.  
"She's sorry that she's not come over earlier but she's been busy, Niamh"  
"She's always busy like all grownups are"  
"I wish I had the time for all my friends, Niamh. It's easier when you're a kid, living at home, everything looked after, long school holidays, no responsibilities"  
"Except for exams and homework." Put in Niamh.  
Cassie looked around, slightly discomforted. She had been one of those infuriating children who had blithely taken advantages of her many natural advantages. Unlike her sister, she could pig out on all the least nutritious foods without putting an ounce onto that slender frame of hers and had the infuriating knack of passing all her exams with the minimum amount of work and the maximum amount of partying. She had had to slightly refurbish her own past as relayed to the kids, emphasise her occasional spurts of hard work and draw a discreet veil over the rest. She had become a 'born again' advocate of diligence and application and had deftly concealed her history up to her rebirth.  
"Yeah, well, I was forgetting all that," Came her glib rejoinder.  
"I don't want to see her," Muttered Michael under his breath.  
"You've not seen her for months?" protested Roisin whose sharp ears had just about picked out the words.  
"So"  
"So what's the problem, Michael?" Cassie asked in an easygoing fashion.  
Just then, Roisin came through from the kitchen, and Michael clammed up and picked at his food in a desultory fashion. After a few minutes, he pushed the half eaten meal away from him.  
"I'm not hungry," He muttered.  
"It's your favourite breakfast. You always like it," Came Roisin's prompt intervention while Cassie studied the boy closely. His behaviour struck a long forgotten chord with her own past. This looked like an opening gambit in how to be a terrible teenager. "You're not coming down with a stomach bug, Michael. If you are, I'll have to get the surefire medicine out of the first aid box. The nastier tasting the better it is, kill or cure, that's how my mother always described it," Cassie chipped in with a challenging grin.  
Niamh hid her grin behind the nearby jumbo-sized Corn Flakes packet and looked away from the discomforted Michael. "I'll try a little more, Cassie. I think I feel a bit better," He muttered sheepishly "Just so long that you don't make yourself sick," Came the genial reply.  
Breakfast continued as normal as Michael decided to keep a low profile. As they got down from the table, Michael went to grab his coat from the hook in the hall.  
"Mum, I'm going out"  
"Where to?" Roisin called.  
"Just out"  
"Oh no you don't, Michael." Roisin's determined voice intervened and she made a dive for the door. An ugly flashpoint situation was just about to develop when Cassie came in from behind her "Oh, so this is what everything is about, Michael"  
"Don't know what you mean," Came the sulky reply.  
"Come on, Michael. When you're horrible to everyone, it's always when you're pressured by your friends. You love seeing Lauren like you always have but you've promised your friends you'll hang around with them so you make up some kind of a story," Roisin finished on a note of triumph.  
"Come on, Michael. You don't have to be with them today," Pleaded Niamh.  
Wrong move, kid, an inward voice told Cassie. That is only going to make Michael feel even more guilty, drive him in on himself and make him rattier.  
"How long is Lauren stopping till? Perhaps if we know that, perhaps Michael could spend time with his friends and come back in time to see her later," Cassie quietly suggested.  
Michael froze like a statue while his coat was half on, half off. There might be a way out of the hole he was landed in.  
"I'll go and find out." Roisin volunteered very quickly." Michael, you stay right here until I find out how long she's staying till"  
Inwardly, Michael was seething with tension. How long would he know the answer, which might let him off the hook? Grownups had a frustrating habit in talking all sorts of rubbish to each other on the phone with no idea of urgency. He had to run over to the other side of the park and not get ridiculed by the others about 'your mum not letting you out to play.' All his friends could come and go as they pleased so why were mum and Cassie so old fashioned and behind the times?

"We'll do a deal with you, Michael," Cassie's small frame with folded arms confronted Michael. "You go off now but mind you're back by three and no excuses. Lauren's coming at any minute and, for once, she's got plenty of time on her hands." "I need to finish off my homework now," Niamh added helpfully. "I didn't think she was staying that late or I would have said so earlier"  
The sulky look on Michael's face was wiped off his face in an instant. The dilemma that had plagued him from late evening up till now was suddenly solved in a flash. He felt so awkward and self conscious so easily, these days.  
"I'm sorry I've been so horrible. I'll be back on time, promise. I really want to see Auntie Lauren"  
"But you…" Roisin started to say when Cassie nudged her in the ribs.  
A quick peck on two cheeks and a small whirlwind shot out of the door and was gone in a flurry of wind. Niamh reached for her homework books and went upstairs.  
"I don't see why Michael has to be so difficult these days and can't talk not like Niamh. It's so obvious what he had to do," Roisin exclaimed in exasperation.  
"Don't ever think that Niamh will never go exactly the same way in a few years time except that she'll have the gift of the gab as well. Girls always do"  
"You're only talking that way because you were a right tearaway," Laughed Roisin. "I was always a model child"  
"You made up for lost time since you first met me," Teased Cassie, her arm gently drawing Roisin to her in a brief embrace just before the doorbell rang.

A glowing Lauren appeared, center stage with outstretched arms, in the center frame of the open door. She looked so much healthier than when they had last seen the slightly strained, pale skinned woman who had had to make an effort to drop back into her old role. This health freak had taken full advantage of sunbathing in Yvonne's back garden and had slid eagerly back into her old regime as soon as possible. It was as if she couldn't wait to put that two black years of her life as far behind her as possible.  
"No children today?" enquired Lauren.  
"Niamh is upstairs doing her homework but she'll be down later. We've given Michael temporary licence to be out with his friends but he'll be back at three," joked Roisin, with a slight inner qualm at the prison reference.  
"Teenagers, eh," laughed Lauren. "well, you were bound to hit it at some time or other"  
Roisin gave a nervous smile. Some of the other mums who congregated outside school were vociferous on the subject and Roisin had inwardly hoped that it wouldn't happen to them. On the plus side, was the very loving and firm mothering they had been given but Roisin was naturally anxious even the support that she had got from Cassie that she had never had from Aiden. She had always secretly feared that those nightmare months she and Cassie had spent in prison would come back to haunt them.  
"Look, I know what's bothering you. I came from a so-called normal family and I'm doing therapy right now, trying to undo the damage that my so called screwed up father did to me," Came Lauren's very bold and intense reply. The words came straight out of her unconscious without any filtering out as she was apt to do these days. "I've been thinking of the last time I was round here and it helps me to be around here with you and the kids"  
"In what way?" Roisin asked with interest.  
"Well, being round here makes me feel kind of normal"  
Cassie and Roisin smiled gratefully at the beautiful simplicity of Lauren's statement and listened as she plunged ahead "…….., you're among the closest, dearest friends I could have and I love your kids but there's something more. If I'm going to make sense of my own mixed up family, then it helps observing what a healthy family is like. I did a lot of thinking things over when I was here last time and talked about you all to Meg Richards, she's my therapist"  
Lauren was still chattering away as Roisin led them into the comfortable sitting room and Lauren sank back with satisfaction into her favourite armchair. The house sounded curiously quiet to her though it meant that, instead of having to have four eyes, two minds and three arms to deal with the friendly onslaught of two lively children, she could sit back and take it easy.

"There's something else I wanted to talk about and that's about Babs," Continued Lauren, hardly stopping for breath.  
A chill ran through them that wasn't the autumn weather. Even if Yvonne hadn't phoned them direct, that sort of terrible news would have reached them as quick as lightning. They really hadn't expected that one. "Mum has been up to Larkhall to see her with George and she told me how she's getting on. On the bad side, she feels terrible at being separated from all she's known on the outside, her claustrophobia has come back and she's scared that she'll do time for this. The good thing is that she's got both Jo and George as briefs to defend her"  
"Whew, the two of them will put the fear of god into any jumped up barrister who thinks he's special"  
"I'd forgotten your time spent mixing with all the legal top nobs," teased Lauren.  
"My couple of months of rehearsals in an orchestra made up almost entirely of solicitors, barristers, judges, opened my eyes. You get to see what they are really like. Some of them are like spoilt children who need some right minded individual to hurl a music score right in their face." Roisin spoke passionately. One of the interesting side effects of her part in "The Creation" was to finally kill stone dead any deference to authority no matter what august form it took. If the Prime Minister spoke out of turn in a conversation on a street corner, she wouldn't hesitate to give him a piece of her mind.  
"Meaning George?" smiled Lauren. There could be no other.  
"Exactly……but we're getting off the point"  
Cassie had smiled at her fantasy of seeing two very strong women wipe the floor with the opposition but the more businesslike side of her forced her to get back to essentials. "Her main problem is Bodybag." As Lauren resumed her story, the other women grimaced. They didn't need a picture drawn to imagine what satisfaction Sylvia would gain from rubbing Barbara's face in her troubles. "Mum has had a run in with her already the first time she's gone to visit after Barbara was taken in"  
"The stupid cow always thinks that she can get the better of your mum. She's even more stupid to do it with Nikki and Karen around." "True, but they're not round all the time. They can't run protection twenty four seven. Let's face it. You know what Larkhall can be like"  
As her voice trailed off, the words came back to haunt Lauren in their resonance. It was ironical when she was appealing to their past memories of the place when her memories of Larkhall were the most recent of all of them and she was trying to forget them. This discussion, which she had chosen to launch into, was proof that the recent past couldn't be brushed aside any more than the distant past. "She's going to need a lot of support," Lauren said flatly.  
"Surely there's no reason to think that way?" queried Roisin.  
"You can convict yourself in your own mind much worse than any brief can do to you. Take my word for it," Came Lauren's grim response.  
"Isn't Barbara's defence going to cost a fortune?" Cassie's reflective voice dwelled on the practicalities.  
"Mum's stumping up for Jo's bill. George has offered to help her out for nothing to get experience in criminal law. According to what mum told me, she's pretty well loaded from well paying civil cases"  
"I'd say that she's doing it out of the goodness of her heart from when I remember her joining us at the pub during the trial and at the rehearsals." Roisin's slowly articulated meditative words sensed that strange mixture of shyness and theatrical expressiveness in her.

Half an hour later as her precipitate articulation of words as they fell out of her mouth, a dull headache set in at the back of her neck. It was a thought demanding admission to be heard, which she had dreaded coming but she knew in advance what the outcome would be. She felt as if she were suspended on the wheel of fate as it swung her in that inevitable curved progression of flight. "It looks as if I'm going to have to visit Larkhall again, to see Denny or Barbara or both. I guess I have to"  
This sounded really lame, Lauren scolded herself to hear her speak in the weariest most reluctant of tones, but the rest of them treated her as seriously as did Michael and Niamh when they finally put in an appearance. 


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Betaed by Hunca Munca. 

Part Eleven

Before court on the Monday morning, John decided to put his plan into action. He and George had gone flat hunting yesterday, and he had seen a couple that he did quite like, but such a mundane activity had given him plenty of time to mull over the idea of trying therapy again. The thought did vaguely terrify him, but when had John Deed ever refused a challenge? When Helen had come to see him back in June, to tell him about Ross, she had given him her card. As he searched through his desk looking for it, he wondered what her reaction would be to his request. He had lighted on the idea of Helen, because he couldn't possibly fall back on the same get out clause as he had with Rachel Crawchek. That just would not be an option with Helen, and if the possibility didn't exist, he couldn't rely on it. Eventually finding Helen's card in his wallet, he examined it, finding both the numbers for the drugs rehab clinic and the psychology service, plus her mobile number. Dialing the number for the psychology clinic, he asked to be put through to her, the prickling sense of combined fear and anticipation creeping up his spine. 

"Hi Judge," Helen said sounding pleased. "What can I do for you?" "As unexpected as this question may be," John asked her carefully. "Do you ever take on private patients?" There was a slight pause before Helen replied, "Sometimes. Why, are you thinking of trying to sort your head out?" "Yes," John laughed. "In a manner of speaking." "So, why me?" Helen asked, now completely serious. "Because with you, I will not be able to use the get out clause that I did, the last time I had therapy." "Do I even want to know what that was?" Helen replied sternly, a faint suspicion touching her thoughts. "Probably not," John admitted. After a short, thoughtful silence, Helen said, "I'll need to talk to my boss about this, mainly because I already know you, and it might be better for you to see someone else. I can't make this decision alone. Can I call you back, maybe at the end of the day?" "Of course, and Helen, thank you for at least considering it." 

Later that morning, Jo arrived at George's office in Knightsbridge, ready for their first meeting with someone who would eventually appear as a witness for Barbara. Jo had been to an appeal hearing in The Strand, and as George's office was closer, they'd arranged to meet there rather than at Jo's. Professor Zubin Khan was due at eleven thirty, barring any emergencies, and they were both looking forward to meeting the person who might prove to be Barbara's main witness. "At least I can now feel as though we're actually doing something," Jo said when she arrived. "I know it's only been a week since she was charged, but it feels so much longer." "Get used to it," George told her matter-of-factly. "Because this will go on for months until we know one way or the other." "I know," Jo said miserably. "And I know it'll be far worse for Barbara, being stuck in prison. I suppose I just feel as though there isn't enough I can really do." "Darling, you're doing your job, that's what matters," George told her quietly, thinking that she'd certainly been right to insist on taking some of the burden away from Jo's shoulders. If the strain was getting to her already, there was no knowing how she might feel by the time they reached the trial. 

When Zubin arrived, he was shown in by George's secretary. As they were in her office, George did the introductions. "Professor Khan," She said, getting to her feet when he appeared. "It's very good of you to take the time to meet with us. I'm George Channing, and this is Jo Mills." Zubin shook hands with both of them, and George asked her secretary to bring them some coffee. As she once again took her seat, she swiftly examined every inch of him, her eyes traversing the tall, thin frame, the aquiline nose, and the black, slightly receding hair. He looked distinguished, polished, and possibly a couple of years older than herself. "Is it normal," Zubin asked with a certain level of curiosity. "For two barristers to work on the same case?" "Not when both are QC's, no," George told him. "But as we both know Barbara on a personal basis, you'll appreciate that this case means far more to both of us than just another job." "I will be primarily at the helm of Barbara's case," Jo further clarified. "As criminal work is what I do, with George acting to all intents and purposes as my junior, because civil work is her speciality." "I see," Zubin replied, clearly impressed at the support Barbara would have. "I got to know Barbara very well, during the time I was treating her husband. It's pretty unthinkable to contemplate her being held behind bars." "Something you must understand, as it may put you off becoming further involved with this case," Jo explained carefully. "Is that this isn't the first time Barbara has been held in custody." "Yes, I know," Zubin amazed them by telling them. "Henry did once tell me where he met her. Having observed just how thoroughly she cared for him during the last few weeks of his illness, nothing would make me give up fighting for her freedom." George smiled at him on hearing this, perceiving such a level of sheer sincerity that she knew he would make a formidable witness. 

When George's secretary had brought in their coffee, George visibly resisted the urge to light a cigarette. "When did you first meet Henry Mills?" Jo asked, able to exhibit a far greater amount of self-control. "Some time in the first week of July," Zubin told them. "He'd been seen by Connie Beauchamp in June, she's one of the Cardio thoracic consultants at St. Mary's, who diagnosed lung cancer, and who was able to verify that it was untreatable. Neither surgery, nor chemotherapy would have achieved anything, as the cancer was far too advanced, though you probably know most of this already. The only thing we could do for him was to provide palliative treatment, including ever increasing pain relief, which is where I came in. I am the head of Anaesthetics at St. Mary's, and was the consultant anaesthetist in charge of Henry's case. At first I prescribed oral pain relief, until something far more substantial became necessary. At the beginning of September, it was getting to the stage where oral pain relief would no longer be good enough. Henry steadfastly insisted that he wanted to remain at home, and Barbara was perfectly happy to care for him there, as he wanted. So, Barbara was taught to give an injection, which is very common when relatives are caring for terminally ill people at home." George's eyes momentarily drifted to Jo, wondering if this had happened to her. "I visited Henry roughly twice a week, prescribing more pain relief as he needed it. The last time I saw him, was on Friday the thirtieth, when I prescribed enough Morphine to last over the weekend." "Barbara's response to her charge," George said carefully. "Is that Henry committed suicide. Did you have any idea, any idea whatsoever, that he might have had this in mind?" "No," Zubin said sadly. "But it's far more believable than Barbara killing him." "Did Henry ever tell you precisely what Barbara was in prison for, when he met her?" Jo asked, the weight of an approaching bombshell in her eyes. "Yes, he did," Zubin further surprised them by saying. "He didn't want the same thing to be thought of her again. If anything, that does put some weight behind Barbara's story, because he might have killed himself, so that she wouldn't have had to make that choice." "Well, that's a little more to go on than we had last week," George said almost cheerfully. "Though the postmortem results weren't exactly helpful." "Can I offer some advice?" Zubin asked, a possibility only now occurring to him. "All suggestions welcome," Jo said with a smile. "If the pathologist was informed by the police that he had been murdered, that is precisely what he or she might have looked for. The point is, that if the suggestion of suicide wasn't alluded to, then it might not have been considered a possibility. It can be extremely difficult, to tell whether an injection was given by the person who received it, or by another. If you really want to be certain of your physical evidence, I would seriously suggest getting a second postmortem done without delay. The longer you wait, the harder it may be to find out the truth." "As he hasn't yet been buried," Said George. "I'm assuming this would be possible." "Perfectly," Zubin replied. "Can you recommend anyone?" Jo asked. "Seeing as this person may be subsequently required to stand as a witness." "Someone I work with on an occasional basis would definitely be your best choice. Dr. Kay Scarpetta is probably the most thorough pathologist I know. She normally resides in the States, but is over here at the moment giving a series of lectures to some of my medical students." "Are you sure she's that good?" George asked, wanting to be clear before they asked this woman to become involved. "She's the Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia," Zubin told them blandly. "Ah, definitely good enough then," George said a little sheepishly. "If there's evidence there to be found, she'll find it," Zubin assured them. "Would you like to sound her out," Jo asked. "And see if she is willing to become involved?" "I'm sure she will," Zubin replied confidently. "Kay always did like a challenge." 

"Now, just how well do you know Connie Beauchamp?" George asked. "Because it appears that she may be standing for the prosecution." "Oh, you're joking," Zubin said in complete disgust. "Not in the least," George told him, seeing that there existed some deep-seated rivalry between Zubin and this woman. "You'll certainly have a battle on your hands, if you get her into court," Zubin told them. "She's used to being able to manipulate every situation to her own advantage, and she won't give up the fight easily. If Connie thinks Barbara killed her patient, you certainly won't find it child's play to make her admit she's wrong." "Kay Scarpetta, isn't the only one who delights in a challenge, Professor Khan," George told him almost evilly. "So don't give up hope just yet." "As she was Henry's consultant," Jo put in, feeling the hackles rise in George's manner. "We could do with a cardio thoracic expert of our own." As Jo said this, a slightly malevolent smirk spread over Zubin's face. "I could sound out Mrs. Beauchamp's colleague. Tom Campbell-Gore holds exactly the same level of seniority as Connie Beauchamp, so he would be well placed to be your expert." "Very well," George replied a little sternly. "But I must ask you, not to use this case, to settle any old scores. We are here to set Barbara free, not to cripple any but the necessary opponents." "Point taken, Ms Channing," Zubin said firmly, his eyes locking with George's for just a moment, just long enough to show her that he would do his best to heed her warning. 

At the end of the afternoon, long after court had adjourned for the day, John was yet again sitting in his chambers, answering the day's e-mails that Coope couldn't deal with, and generally catching up on yet more of the incessant red tape that the Lord Chancellor's Department kept throwing his way. He was staring almost blindly at a truly, mind numbingly new piece of administrative rubbish, when the phone on his desk chose that moment to shatter the silence. Yawning widely, John reached out to pick up the receiver. "John Deed," He said, sounding extremely tired. "Hard day on the bench, was it?" Came Helen's slightly amused tones. "No, just the following tedium from the LCD," John told her with a smile. "I thought you might like to know, that I've been given permission to take you on as a private patient, that's if you still want to go ahead with it." "Right," John said after a moment's pause. "When were you thinking of?" "How about tomorrow, at five?" Helen asked, hearing the distinct wariness in his voice. "That's, awfully soon," John commented slowly. "Come on, Judge," Helen almost teased. "I thought you liked a challenge. Besides, it was your idea in the first place." "Yes," John said heavily. "And I'm beginning to think it was a particularly stupid one." "If you want my honest opinion," Helen told him gently. "From the little I do know about you, I'd say this was something that was long overdue." There was another fairly lengthy pause, whilst John tried to wonder just what she did already know about him, and whether he really could go through with this. "Okay," He said eventually, feeling immensely out of his depth. "Tomorrow." After telling him where to find her, Helen hung up, her mind already working on overdrive to prepare herself for her slightly unusual client. When Helen had hung up, John got up from his desk and stretched. Walking over to where Mimi lay sprawled in her basket, he bent down to scratch her ears. "Have I gone completely insane, Mimi?" He asked, as the little dog gazed lovingly up at him. "Have I just signed myself over to a prolonged session of torture, even worse than anything Ian Rochester could dream up?" As he attached Mimi's lead to her collar and led her out of the door and down the stairs, he was forced to wonder just why his judgment had suddenly chosen to desert him. 


	12. Chapter 12

Part Twelve

On Monday afternoon while Nikki was working in her office, her thoughts strayed from the files that she was checking and pondered the events of last Friday when she had seen the Julies having a ding-dong row with Bodybag. She had let the argument run without any direct intervention but she was beginning to ask herself if she had acted wisely.  
Technically, the Julies had crossed the line in terms of what was acceptable in terms of how a prisoner should speak to a prison officer. Like it or nor, she owed Bodybag, she meant Sylvia, loyalty in terms of her position much though her sympathies went in the opposite direction. Her sharp ears had heard enough to tell her that Barbara had been on the receiving end of that woman's heavy-handed abuse. What had surprised her was that Sylvia hadn't come in and complained to her about her lack of support which indicated that either she was stewing on it, or was biding her time and acting under the guidance of that dangerous snake in the grass, Di Barker, or that she had simply cut her losses, having behaved totally improperly.  
She threw her pen down and decided to act. She needed to investigate and not wait for trouble to come to her.

The Julies were enjoying a pleasantly idle moment and Julie Saunders was writing a letter to David with one of her favourite fluffy topped garish biros. He was a grown man now but Julie still saw him as that eager eyes, ever believing schoolboy whom she had seen only at infrequent intervals.  
"Can't think of anything special to write, Ju. Things have been sort of quiet, sort of nothing newsy. Can't bleeding well say that we're still doing servery duties"  
"You're forgetting about Babs," Julie Johnson added.  
"Oh my god, I'd forget to put my head on in the morning if it wasn't screwed on, Ju"  
Came the incredulous reply and she scribbled away furiously. Just when she paused for further inspiration, there was a polite knock on the door and Nikki poked her head round the corner.

"Come in, Nikki. Make yourself comfy. We ain't seen you to talk to proper like for ages"  
Nikki smiled diffidently. She was conscious that her smart suit sometimes set her apart from old friends like the Julies. She had told the interview panel that 'yes, there are people on G wing whom I would class as friends, but that would not allow me to digress from my professional responsibilities in the day to day management of their sentences.' Those were fine, brave words but it was quite another matter to look the Julies straight in the eye right now.  
"It isn't exactly a social call," Began Nikki with a strained smile.  
The Julies exchanged worried looks "What exactly is it about, Nikki, if you don't mind me asking"  
"Mind if I sit down"  
Julie Saunders gestured her consent to Nikki and immediately, she felt more comfortable in being physically on the same level as the other two women.  
"I want you to help me out with a problem. I can't be everywhere and there are situations where things happen and I don't know the background and I might make mistakes"  
"Are you expecting us to be grasses?" The tone in Julie Saunders' voice became markedly colder. They couldn't believe what they were hearing, especially from their old mate Nikki. "It's like this. I was watching you and Sylvia having a row the other day and I missed the first part of the conversation. I heard you speak up for Barbara how she was really suffering when Henry was dying….I can imagine that as I'll never forget the way she spoke about Peter once when she was writing her diary"  
The Julies saw that faraway look in Nikki's eyes and heard that tremor in her voice as old memories replayed themselves in her mind. She was the same old Nikki. "…..anyway, I heard Sylvia say to you that you were 'living in cloud cuckoo land.' It sounded as if Sylvia had been sticking in the knife but I don't know for sure"  
"Why don't you ask Barbara? You're old mates"  
Why not, indeed, Nikki asked herself. It was only too easy. She was wing governor and she could set up an interview and call her into her office and talk to her just as in the old days. That was the trouble, she realized. The Julies were just that bit distanced from the situation and it did not affect them directly as it did where Sylvia was attacking a friend of hers. That instinctive heartfelt desire to stand up for an old friend made it incredibly hard to stand back and be objective about the matter.  
"That's just the trouble, Julies. I have to be fair to Sylvia and be absolutely sure that I don't let my prejudices run away with me. It's just not safe for me to do that. In any case, if a complaint ever reaches my ears officially, it will be about you and not Barbara and I'd sooner get in there first"  
The Julies thought long and hard about what Nikki so persuasively reasoned. They always ended up following the line of reasoning set out by a strong-minded smart leader, whether it was Yvonne or Nikki. They both made natural back up "What do you want to know, Nikki"  
The other woman drew a breath of relief. All the natural warmth of feeling had returned to Julie Saunders tone of voice and, automatically, she handed out a couple of cigarettes to them as in the old days. This time though, she hardly had to hoard each cigarette smoked in case she ran through her weekly spends. The reality of her responsibilities and a handsome salary was in danger of increasing that nicotine habit of hers.  
"Just exactly what that old cow has been shooting her mouth off about. I won't use what you say unless I have to. You know me." The three women grinned comfortably at each other. They knew each other very well.

Nikki had only returned to her office for a mere quarter of an hour during which she had attacked her paperwork with added enthusiasm, fuelled by a sense of controlled anger and self satisfaction. She threw the last file in her out tray when a self-important knock rapped at the door.  
"Come in"  
Bodybag bustled in and grabbed possession of the chair and started talking without any polite preliminaries.  
"I want to make a complaint about Julie Saunders and Julie Johnson under 'conduct likely to prejudice good order and discipline'." "Oh? Can you explain, Sylvia? That is a very serious matter"  
"I had not exchanged one cross word with either of them for I don't know how long. I was on duty keeping an eye on the prisoners and making sure everything was in proper order when they came at me, mouthing off at me without so much as a 'by your leave'. I was completely taken aback, I can assure you. I have never been so insulted and slandered in all my life, I can assure you. It is all the more disgraceful as they have been around for a long, long time and they should know better than any prisoner what can and cannot be allowed to be said to a prison officer, especially someone of my long standing"  
A little voice at the back of Nikki's mind was sorely tempted to say 'fifty years, eh' but she crushed that thought back. If only the woman wouldn't puff herself up with self-importance and bluster and, most of all for once in her life, tell the truth. "Oh, Sylvia, and exactly what did they say"  
Bodybag reached for the little pocket book where she had written down the most "'evil old witch' 'you ought to be ashamed of yourself' 'you're jealous, that's what its all about.' Need I say more"  
"Well, it's not very good. Pushing it a bit but surely it's something that you could clear up with a quiet word, especially, as you say, you had done nothing to provoke them. Is there anything else that happened that you've somehow overlooked"  
Nikki said in her driest tones.  
"It's not what they said, it's the way they said it. Pure venom in their voices. You were there. You must have heard what they said. You could hear it all over the wing." Nikki had had enough. She had tried to play fair with her but it was now time to unmask her hidden guns and blow her out of the water.  
"Now, see here, Sylvia. I've made a few enquiries about the incident and it has come to my ears that you are not treating Barbara Mills in the professional way that I would expect of one of my prison officers. I understand that you have repeatedly made prejudicial remarks about the offence that she is charged with. I do not approve of lynch law, as you should well know. To my mind, anyone is innocent until proved guilty. You would do well to remember it. On top of that, you have repeatedly called Barbara by the name of hunt, not Mills. You must have surely noticed that I have always addressed you as Sylvia despite my inclinations otherwise. I do this because I am expected to as a professional despite our past antagonisms. Now is there any reason why you cannot be expected to do the same for Barbara? And furthermore, is there any reason why I don't make it official if words reach me that you have not taken notice of my advice"  
Nikki surprised herself as she spoke in a cold, clipped delivery reaching out for the sort of judicial turn of phrase and intonation that had ever impressed her. She was gratified to see that the expression on Bodybag's face was as if she had swallowed a large, painful object before she made one last bid to get her way.  
"But what about this absurd idea of jealousy? I mean, how could I possibly be jealous of …her"  
Nikki had to hand it to Bodybag. She did a pretty good impersonation of bewildered innocence.  
"In two words, Henry Mills. A little bird told me the background of that one. I would drop it, I really would"  
Bodybag flushed as Nikki's revelation and the warning tone in her voice. She knew when she was beaten.  
"I have had a gentle word with the Julies and explained the situation. I will back up one of my prison officers in preference to a prisoner if the situation ever demanded. I will not however take the rap in the sort of situation that, say, Helen did when she defended you against Carol Byatt when she nearly bled to death thanks to your incompetence. I have a long memory, Sylvia and I never forget…..now you may go, Sylvia"  
Bodybag scuttled hastily out of the door as Nikki switched from her light and judicial delivery to burning her through with her eyes and finally dismissing her. 

"So how did you get on, Sylv. Did my plan work to let her sweat over the weekend and then think you were not going to bother?" Di asked eagerly over a couple of glasses of orange.  
"You would think that even she would have backed me up," Bodybag groaned into her drink. She was deeply mortified at how disastrously the interview had progressed." But no, not her. It's clear to see who her favourites are and that she and Hunt will be as thick as thieves as before. It's a case as business as usual"  
"Your time will come, Sylv. You have to learn to be patient. Sooner or later she'll be lured into showing herself in her true colours. She can't keep up her act forever even with Betts backing her"  
"Times have changed and not for the better. A con is a con and always will be and I'm not just talking about our resident Christian who's behind bars"  
"What'll happen if she's found guilty?" Di asked with eager glee. "She'll have her work cut out to look impartial. She can't do that balancing act forever. She's bound to fall off the wire"  
"Betts will be bound to cover up for her." Bodybag gloomed. "Us old guard are in the minority what with all the prison colleges feeding the new recruits with all sort of liberal eyewash. Take Selena over there. She's a classic example of someone who's been fed all these ideas. Time was that you picked it up on the job and an older, wiser, more experienced colleague showed you the ropes."

Selena could sense two pairs of venomous eyes boring into the back of her head but studiously ignored them and carried on talking to Colin. She smiled as Nikki strolled casually into the social club and joined them in their little crowd.  
"Give it time, Sylv. You never know, one of the old school will be looking for a transfer in and there'll be more of us. Prison system is crying out for new staff, especially in the London area"  
"Aye, but will it be before I pick up my pension at the first opportunity. Things are not the way they used to be"  
If Nikki had heard Bodybag's final comment, she would have heartily agreed but from an entirely opposite perspective. 


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Betaed by Hunca Munca. 

Part Thirteen

On the Tuesday afternoon, as John drove towards the clinic, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, the endless traffic jams driving him insane. Part of him was impatient to get this over with and the rest of him wanted to back out entirely. He put some rock music on, to try and steady his nerves, but it didn't really work. The clinic was in one of the more dreary parts of Paddington, and as he pulled into the car park, he heard the siren of an ambulance presumably speeding towards St. Mary's hospital. Why did the NHS always find premises in the most drab, miserable areas, he was forced to wonder. Oh well, at least he hadn't had to go on a year long waiting list, which is precisely what would have happened if he'd chosen to go via the national health route. Telling Mimi to behave, and leaving her contentedly snoozing on the backseat, he walked in through the automatic doors, already regretting his decision to come here. After informing the receptionist whom he was there to see, he sat in the waiting room, idly flicking through the pile of well-thumbed magazines on the low coffee table, though nothing could remotely capture his interest. He could now hear the rain pattering against the window, the weather seeming to perfectly reflect his sombre and extremely wary mood. 

"Judge, would you like to come this way?" Helen said, breaking in on his thoughts. Coming back to himself, he realised that she was stood in the doorway, regarding him with a soft, encouraging smile. Getting up to follow her, he wondered if it was still too late to say no. She led him down the white walled corridor, simply expecting that he would follow her. When she closed the door of her office behind them, he took in its fairly functional surroundings. There was a desk in one corner, with the computer whose screen looked to be in suspended animation. There were several comfortable armchairs, arranged on either side of the room, with a coffee table in the centre. Perhaps the only personal effect John could see at a glance was a picture of Nikki, that was proudly displayed on the desk. "Can I get you a cup of tea?" Helen asked, as John took one of the armchairs. "I wouldn't mind a large scotch," he admitted ruefully. "I can't offer you that, I'm afraid," She said with a smile. When she took a chair opposite him, he realised that now, sat here as he was, there really was no going back. 

"I think we should start," Helen said a little hesitantly, feeling the type of nerves she hadn't felt since her very first session. "With you telling me why you're here." This threw John slightly, because he knew that he certainly wasn't ready to tell her precisely what had forced him to make this decision. "It occurred to me," He said evasively. "That it was about time I tried therapy again." Taking this avoidance tactic for precisely what it was, Helen chose not to draw attention to it. "So, why didn't it work last time?" "Because I found it far too easy to quit," He told her honestly. "Which I suppose proves that I didn't want it badly enough in the first place." "What happened?" Helen asked, though she thought she could probably hazard a guess. "I slept with her," John replied, feeling a certain sense of disgust at just how easy it had been. "Well, that won't be happening with me," Helen told him sternly. "I know," he said with a smile. "That's why I chose you, because I knew that wouldn't be an option." "That's something, I suppose," Helen said ruefully. "It shows that you're serious about it this time. I shouldn't say it, but I do feel a certain amount of professional disgust that this therapist let that happen. Was that why you chose a woman, so that if necessary, you could sleep with her, and so end the professional relationship you had with her?" "Partly," John admitted. "Though that wasn't all of it. I find it hard enough, to talk about my feelings with anyone, Jo and George included, but discussing them with a man would be virtually impossible." "Why?" "I sometimes think feelings are a weakness," He replied, not quite answering her question. "They leave you open to being hurt, to being ridiculed, and they serve no useful purpose." "Do you not think that feelings are what make us different from animals?" "Feelings make us vulnerable," He said with more than a little scorn. "They give others the ability to manipulate us, and all they really achieve, is to make us do the most stupid, pointless things, all in the name of so-called friendship." He stopped, realising that he'd plainly said far too much, and had been about to blurt out what had happened with Karen at the conference. "You're very angry today," Helen said gently. "Whether with yourself, or someone else, I really don't know." "I don't mean to be," John replied, calming down a little, and not really knowing where all that had come from. "You can be as angry as you like," Helen told him. "That's what this time is for, if necessary. Why not tell me what happened to make you want therapy again?" John looked utterly terrified at this suggestion, knowing that at the moment, he just didn't have the face to tell her. Seeing that this was a distinctly no go area, Helen tried another tack. "Okay, but we will come back to it, because I think it might be important. For now, let's go back to the last time you had therapy." "Why?" John asked belligerently. "I didn't like where Rachel Crawchek was going, I seduced her, therefore it failed. What more is there to it?" "Why did you start seeing her in the first place?" This question seemed to briefly catch him off guard, because he had been expecting her to focus on the therapy itself. "As stupid as it sounds," He admitted eventually. "Because Jo wanted me to. She told me I needed help, and though I'm loath to admit it, she was right." "And is that why you're here now?" Helen asked, barely suppressing a smile. "No." "Good, because that is not a reason to have therapy." "I think that was partly why it didn't work," John tentatively speculated. "Because I felt under pressure to make it work." "Does anyone else know you're here?" "No, and I intend it to stay that way." 

"Why did Jo tell you that you needed help?" John looked faintly embarrassed at this question, though he knew that this at least was one he couldn't avoid. "I am, or at least I was, what some might call a serial womaniser." "And is that what you would call yourself," Helen asked without a flicker. "Or is that a label others have given you?" "It was the most palatable way of describing what I sometimes still am." "There's nothing remotely palatable about therapy, Judge," Helen told him seriously. "That's the whole point of it, to abandon the concepts that you rigidly stick to as a matter of course, and to examine the truth about who you really are. So, forget the label, and tell me what it is that makes you describe yourself in that way." "Isn't that obvious?" John asked a little scathingly. "Yes, it is," Helen replied, looking him straight in the eye, almost daring him to look away. "But I want you to say it." "Fine," He said a little exasperatedly, though knowing she was doing the right thing. "Before I got into the relationship I have with Jo and George, I used to find it a very delightful distraction, to pick up random women to go to bed with. Jo told me I needed help, because I couldn't have held down a committed relationship to save my life. I lost count of how many times I hurt George when we were married, or Jo in the years that followed. I'm addicted to the chase, the conquest, the feeling of stepping off life for an hour or a night, because it allowed me to forget for a while that for the rest of the time, I am forced to inhabit a moral high ground that I don't always want to fulfill." "And now?" This threw John, because he had half been expecting some thought from her on his previous behaviour. "If it were just George, or just Jo, I would still be as bad as I was before. They almost manage to keep me on the straight and narrow, because two women can keep me far more successfully occupied than one." Helen allowed herself the ghost of a smile. "Before your relationship with Jo and George, did you ever think about the women you used to pick up, afterwards, I mean?" "Not often," John admitted quietly. "I used to tell myself that they saw it as just as much of a random distraction as I did. That made it extremely simple to immediately forget about them the next day. There was the occasional one who managed to get under my skin, but it was pretty rare. Any love, affection, or fondness I had in me at the time was reserved specifically for Jo, with a very deeply buried portion for George that was still unresolved from when I was married to her. But no matter how much I loved Jo, I couldn't give up the women. Part of her despised me for it, I know she did, but I did try. For the six weeks that I was having therapy with Rachel, I didn't pick up anyone, and in those days that was quite a long time for me." "Why did you sleep with her?" Helen asked into the resulting silence. "What was it she did, that made you suddenly want to back out?" "She was getting far too close," He said, not looking at her. "She was gradually peeling away some of my layers, and I didn't like it." "Did that frighten you?" Helen asked gently. "Yes, I suppose it did," John said disgustedly. "And yes, I do realise that is the whole point of doing this, but I don't think I was ready for it. I don't think I knew quite what to expect." He got up, and began thoughtfully pacing round the room, as Helen just sat and watched him. "Do you resent the fact that she made it so easy for you to quit?" Helen asked, seeing rigidity in his posture that could only mean anger and frustration. "Yes," He replied, his eyes briefly rising to meet hers. "So say it," She encouraged. "Actually try putting that into words." "I loathe the way she just gave in," He said eventually, surprising himself immensely, because he'd never dared to think about Rachel so vehemently. "Oh, she put up the pretense of a refusal, but that was just a test, to see how far I would push it. At first, she played the game of assuming I was just another patient who had fallen in love with her, as if that was remotely likely," He added in total disgust. "I couldn't have fallen in love with her if I'd tried. She was forcefully prising away forty years worth of thoroughly constructed barriers, making me relive one of the most painful events of my life, and yet she stupidly thought I'd fallen in love with her. I found out where she lived, and went to visit her at home. Don't say it, because I know just how low that was. But it worked. She didn't put up any fight whatsoever. You see, simply walking away wouldn't have been good enough, because it would have meant that she'd won. I had to take back the reins, I had to get the situation back within my control, and the only way of doing that, was constructing the most clear of reasons for not continuing to see her on a professional basis. She couldn't remain as my therapist once I'd slept with her." 

"Do you often use sex to manipulate a situation to your advantage?" Helen asked, provoking a long, penetrating stare from him. "What sort of a question is that?" He replied, not knowing how to answer such a thing. "I'm just trying to work out how important sex is to you," Helen told him. "Isn't it important to everyone?" He responded dryly, not receiving a smile in return. "Not to everyone, no. The point is, that sex appears to be your fallback, something you rely on whenever you either want a break from your life, or when you want to escape from a situation that maybe frightens the hell out of you. Is sex something you've always found especially easy to be part of?" "Don't you?" He asked, getting a hint of where she was heading with this, and not liking it one bit. "That's none of your business," She deflected easily. "Is it perhaps the one area of your life, where you've always felt most confident?" "Probably," He replied eventually, loathing the fact that he had to concede this point to her. "Why do you think that is?" She persisted, half wondering if she should have a scoreboard on the wall for the next session. "I couldn't possibly tell you," He said with a laugh. "Though I suppose that the more you do it, the better you become." "It doesn't always work like that," Helen told him with a rye smile. "But that brings me back to the reason why it appears to be the one thing you can rely on, when things aren't quite going your way." "I've never really thought about it like that," He was forced to admit. "It's just my usual reaction to almost anything. If I'm happy, then I want to go to bed with someone, and if I'm furious, such as after the very bitter row I had with George back in April, I want to cheer myself up." "So why sex?" Helen probed further. "Why not alcohol, or drugs, or gambling, why sex?" "Because sex doesn't usually hurt either me or anyone else," John told her, receiving a raised eyebrow at the word usually. "After that argument I had with George, which was definitely the worst we've had in years, I went out, and picked a woman up in a bar. A couple of months later, George discovered that because of this woman, I'd given both George and Jo Chlamydia." "I bet you weren't popular," Helen said ruefully, easily able to picture an irate George. "Not very," John replied a little shame facedly. "I don't think I've ever seen George so angry. But most of the time, sex doesn't hurt anyone." "Thought for another's welfare, isn't really why you do it, is it, Judge?" "What makes you so sure?" He asked her, giving Helen the thought that if he asked any more questions in response to her own, she just might be struck off for shaking a patient to death in their first session. "Because you came out with that explanation far too easily," She told him, seeing by the slight slump of his shoulders that she'd finally broken through, finally achieved something with her questions. His continued pacing led him over to the window, where he stood looking out at the still pouring rain. He didn't want to do this, he did not want to stand here and show her just how weak and sometimes vulnerable he was. Helen simply waited, knowing that he was summoning up the courage to tell her something that to him was the first step in the long, highly treacherous road of his unveiling. He gripped the hot radiator in front of him, the warmth slightly taking the edge off his fear. 

"I need to feel loved," He said eventually. "And being physically close to someone, getting to know every inch of her body, and giving her as much pleasure as is humanly possible, is really the only way I can understand that feeling, or at least the pretense of that feeling. With Jo and George, making love is the only way I can show them I love them, and the only way I can believe that they love me. With a stranger, it just for a while, allows me to feel loved, even if I'm not." As these words were dragged out of him, she could tell that this had taken an enormous amount of effort. It crucified him to be so vulnerable with anyone, and he deserved some praise for this first achievement. After quite a lengthy silence, John turned and came back to his chair, refusing to look at her, not wanting to see what might be in her eyes. "I think we should leave it there for this week," She said, at last bringing his gaze back on her. "Is the time up already?" He asked in surprise, glancing at his watch to see it was almost six o'clock. "Yes, almost, but what you've just told me, that was an enormous achievement to get that far, and I think you need to recover from that, before we go any further." "It doesn't feel much like an achievement," He said miserably. "No, it probably doesn't," She said with sympathy. "But you did make the right decision in coming here, and I hope that you'll keep coming back." "I'm not going to give up now," He said, offering her a slightly shaky smile, and feeling as exhausted as he usually did after a serious workout. As they walked out to their cars, John appeared to be miles away, clearly submerged in his thoughts. "Try to keep your eyes on the road," Helen told him as she got into her car, thankfully lighting a much needed cigarette as she watched him drive away, wondering precisely what the next few sessions would bring. John Deed had many layers, she realised, each and every one of them complex and steadfastly maintained. Helen just hoped that she really was up to the job of breaking through them all. 


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: This is definitely Richard's. Notes

Song credits The Beatles "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band"  
John Mayall's Bluesbreakers "Stepping Out"  
The Doors "Five to One" Muddy Waters "I've got my mojo working"  
Members of Cream- Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Ginger Baker

Part Fourteen

John could remember the day when he confessed to his beloved daughter Charlie that he shared her taste for Black Sabbath. Her tolerant smile showed that she had failed to realise that his playful nature had the tendency on occasion to understate the more outrageous sides of his personality rather than exaggerate it. The memory of that conversation however lingered at the back of his mind.

It all started from the day he watched the television and saw the Prime Minister up to his usual tricks of image projection in the tactfully unostentatious way that his guitar case was displayed to make him look vaguely hip. It angered him much to see him so very badly clothed by the tattered remnants of a vanished hippie past. He was not sure whether this or the nauseating way he said the word "guy" incensed him more. John was always a man of strong views. By God, he was better than this mediocrity who presumed to rule the nation. He bet that he was a mediocre musician as well.

He had worked hard all his life with not much of a respite from the law books and the cases, which had dominated his life yet everyone felt distant from him, out of reach that night. He was at a loose end and, for once in his life, searched out the more forgotten parts of his flat.

There it was, on the topmost shelf, buried below a mixture of old papers and a few clothes, a long black flat case. He pulled it out, dislodging everything around it. He clicked the catches and, there it was, a shiny cherry red Gibson electric guitar. For a second, he didn't want to disturb it but the force within him was too great. He picked it up and the lean plastic shape fitted snugly into his hands and his fingernails dragged their way across the strings. The muted but to him, resonant hum dragged him back into his past and brought back to him that long forgotten thrill.

With characteristic obstinacy, John blithely propped the small practice amplifier on a coffee table, hooked the guitar strap over one shoulder and struck out the first shimmering amplified notes of "Sunshine of your Love." The fingers still remembered the once familiar patterns as he punched out the intro. An intense feeling of satisfaction brought him to life. Just when he was about to ascend the musical scales into that familiar solo leaving behind that bedrock riff, the door opened and Monty poked his head round the door.  
"John, what in hell are you doing? I'm trying to work"  
."What does it look like"  
"You can't play that music here"  
"Aha. You didn't call it an infernal racket as my university tutor used to call that song"  
"Yes, well, I have some affection for it, but this is neither the time or the place"  
"You are a rock fan, Monty?" John looked at him with that expression of spiritual recognition of a soul brother, instead of that mockery in his eyes. Stanley might have looked at the long lost Dr Livingstone that way. "Yes," growled Monty." I used to play drums a bit but I gave it up when I met Vera"  
The faint tinge of regret was not lost on John.  
"And would you like to get back to playing in a band"  
John's words and his appealing blue eyes roused a flicker of spirit in him, as he was secretly bored with his life. He knew he shouldn't let John coax him into such a mad idea but deep down he wanted to be tempted.

When he stood in the mysteriously acquired rehearsal hall, he felt too old and stiff for the shiny drum kit before him. However the cymbals weren't quite his height, he noted.  
"Just imagine that Neil Haughton is the drum kit and you are kicking at him with the drum pedal and clouting him with your drum sticks." John's voice insinuated its way into his fantasies.  
Monty seemed to swell inwardly, removed his tie and jacket, unbuttoned his two top shirt buttons, took his place and unleashed a brutal drum solo where the sideways smashed at the bass drum pounded out in perfect synch with the drum rolls off the top and into the cymbal crashes. John felt this animal thrusting rhythm, which blew the top off Monty's long, pent up rage. He immediately locked into it with a throaty rhythmic guitar figure, which drove Monty's fury onwards. The spirit between them fused together till Monty's final flourish drew the music to a halt.  
"Not as fit as I used to be," Monty gasped apologetically.  
"Monty, you are brilliant. We've got to get a group together, " I suppose it's like riding a bike, you'll always remember." Monty panted, still recovering his breath but he felt unexpectedly good about himself.

"We need a bass player and singer at the minimum"  
"You're right," enthused Monty when he had recovered." but we can't just stick an advertisement on the student union notice board like we used to. "  
"Where there is a will, there is a way." John muttered, a faraway look of determination in his eyes.

The next day, he still looked that way when he had adjourned to his favourite café. One half of his mind was on the trial he was overseeing, the other was fixated on his frustration in being in a potentially rock solid outfit but minus a vital component. "Hi John, didn't know you were going to be round these parts." Nikki's bright pleasant tones broke in on his thoughts. By the expression on your face, you have a tricky case on your hands"  
"The trial is commonplace. What is driving me to distraction is that I am trying to form a rock band as an extra curricular interest and I have a problem"  
"Suppose you talk to me about it." Her curiosity was definitely roused and she had an inkling in her mind that she could help out. "Coope has tipped me off through her network of contacts that the Prime Minister is considering coming to the local town hall in a sponsored talent show for groups"  
"It will need to keep out the would be "pop idols." Nikki concluded. "I understand that he plans to perform with a pick up band. I have that itching, burning desire to form a rival outfit and just blow him off the stage. That is my ultimate ambition in my life"  
That combative gleam in his eye and the drawl in his voice was infectious and immediately had Nikki in its grip.  
"So what's the problem"  
"I am an accomplished lead guitarist in the Eric Clapton mould and I have a partner in crime as a Ginger Baker styled drummer. I urgently need a vocalist and bass player"  
"The answer to your problem is sitting opposite you."Nikki smiled broadly." I sang and played bass in a group in my early days till my other half at the time made me settle down and give up the music scene. Now I have a regular daytime job, I'm up for something like this. Helen will understand"  
The gleam of intense satisfaction shone out of John's eyes as fate fell into his hands. He knew Nikki, the former inmate of Larkhall and now governor of G Wing but Nikki the reincarnation of Jack Bruce was an enormous stroke of luck

Back in the rehearsal room on another evening, John enthused at length to his comrades in arms as they sweated away to set up the array of amplifiers, drum kits and to plug in the leads. "One, two three four." John counted in as, with a will, Monty smote the drum kit with that peculiar lopsided beat for the four beats in a bar for Nikki and John to come in with that unique scrubbing rhythm.

"We're Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  
We hope you will enjoy the show We're Sergeant Pepper's one and only Lonely Hearts Club Band.  
Sit back and let the evening go"  
Nikki's voice had that ecstatically raunchy intonation and she played with that thumping edge over which John's fluid high-pitched guitar cut an authoritative edge through the music. Beneath that, Monty hammered away and they were all together with that intense joy at making music, however ill assorted were their origins. That was almost the point of it all.  
They started to strike problems from the next song onwards as the sound balance started to go awry. Monty's drums started to drown everything out and other times Nikki's bass occasionally did the same with John's elaborate guitar solo. The expression on his face became more and more pained till he drew the last song to a close.  
"We're all playing fine but the music's out of balance. We need a mixing board and someone to work the PA"  
"Did you mention a PA?" A strange voice broke in on them. It was none other than the respectably dressed Coope, that infinitely resourceful manager of John's complicated love life, the embodiment of imperturbability who gently steered into his hands the cases she thought he should have.  
"I. was looking for you as Jo Mills had kept calling for you and was increasingly worried that you weren't returning your calls. Now I see I have no cause to worry"  
"But we do." Retorted John." I need someone to manage a different kind of PA that you perform as your daily function"  
"I think I can help out here. I used to manage the board for my son till he went to university. Even he thought I wasn't bad"  
"Coope, as usual, you're a godsend," exclaimed John. Fortune blessed them as, with inspired musicianship, they played the same set of songs again the next night and Coope's deft touch manipulated the various channels to perfection. They grabbed the songs by the scruff of the neck and rode them all the way home.

It was the evening that the P M had been waiting for. His close political advisers had warned him that a more hip image would draw back the young voters who had stabbed him in the back by daring to take to the streets and march in the streets about Iraq instead of sticking their favourite pin up posters of pop stars on their bedroom walls. He wasn't exactly "pop idol" himself but his looks were still vaguely youthful. His political fixers had set everything up and he was the top of the bill attraction, together with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and a reluctant Neil Haughton on drums. It suited his aggressive tendencies and was safely consigned to the back of the stage.

The youthful groups played as tastefully though not too expertly, helped by the fact that no alternative musician or pop idol would have dreamed of turning up for totally opposite reasons, even with the faint hope of a second of TV coverage. The TV cameras were set up complete with the supine press corps and the besuited trio drank sugar free tea backstage and waited to be given the curtain call. The local yokels had been duly given their instructions as to what to do. 

Behind the curtain, John, Nikki and Monty were sweating hard to fix up their equipment in record time in the narrow space to the side of the expensive gear of the band they vowed to upstage. The break before the headline act was judged to be long enough to heighten that feeling of anticipation of the passive celebrity worshippers. Ironically, it gave them just enough time with the help from women working at the hall that Nikki knew from her club days who helped them get set up ten minutes before the interval was due to end. "One two, one two," John spoke into his mike and there was a brief squeal of feedback before Cope, serene at the mixing desk, got it under control. It did bring in the quicker witted audience back from the bar to augment the few who stayed in their seats.  
"We are an unscheduled support band before the P M takes the stage. We are the Storm Riders." John announced, his expressive voice capable of filling a court room now amplified by the PA which sent it rolling round the hard domed ceiling of the much larger concert hall." On bass and vocals we have, Nikki Wade, a prison governor. I'm John Deed on lead guitar and I'm a high court judge and on drums is Monty Everard who is my senior in the legal profession. One, two, three, four"  
Immediately, the band careered into a perfectly balanced version of "Sergeant Pepper" The three instruments meshed and blended perfectly together to perfection and the wall of music grabbed hold of the audience, John inspired to venture into back up vocals behind Nikki. The audience were entranced and a solid stream of people filed in from the bar. At the end, Nikki's voice built to a crescendo as the song soared out into the audience before the band signed off with a brief instrumental flourish.

"And now, our second number features John Deed as Eric Clapton.This is no "Stars in Your Eyes" though. This is for real." Nikki shouted exultantly into the mike as john tore into the opening riff of "Stepping Out". Nikki and Monty held down the short stabbing staccato rhythms while all of John's soul was at one with the fiery flurry of notes which reached out into the dark. His flying fingers coaxed such an intensity of feeling out of his freeboard, his face intent with concentration yet stepping back from the spotlight.

There was pandemonium backstage as three angry powerful rulers of the country burst out of their dressing room and struggled their way through the rambling maze of corridors to find the stage. Whoever was responsible for escorting them to the stage had let them down badly.

With one eye mentally on the clock which ticked away the time they had to perform their set, John led the trio into the archetypal Cream song "Sunshine of your Love' which Nikki and Monty blessed alongside of him with their music, their undying devotion to that song. He stepped forward to the microphone to add a touch of emphatic background harmonies to the line "……..I'll stay with you till my seeds are dried up……"But, he thought smugly to himself, while he followed that pulse of music to its distant source so far away in an endless quest, his powers would stay with him, like Nikki's, like Monty's. They drove that song home to a climax of thundering drums and crashing chords until the Doors of Perception opened right up in front of their eyes in the next song. 

"Five to One One in Five No one here gets out alive You get yours, baby I'll get mine Going to make it if we try"

"The old get old And the Young get stronger May take a week And it may take longer They've got the guns But we've got the numbers Gonna win, yeah, we're taking over."

Nikki screamed out the words of Jim Morrison of the Doors into the dark as the repeated pile driver rhythms eventually erupted out into the audience with a glorious explosion of interlocking rhythms, Monty grinning devilishly as he pounded away in the background and the music reached its triumphant conclusion.

"All right, Houghton, what is the problem," John exclaimed as the crowd exploded in cheering while that contemptible weasel was suddenly pulling at his shirtsleeve. Behind him, the face of the smiling smoothie behind him who always looked so in command before a TV camera was distorted with rage and jealousy. The real man, so carefully hidden from public eye, was coming to the surface. He wasn't coming forward to back up his friend but hung back, leaving someone else to do the dirty work for him.

"We're Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  
We're sorry but it's time to go Sergeant Pepper's one and only lonely Hearts Club Band"

Nikki improvised this last finale as an encore as she knew that the wrath of the establishment would cut them short very shortly. She wondered how they had gone on so long without the plug being pulled on them for so long but wasn't asking questions. John tore off a brief snatch of a solo as his torn shirtsleeve flapped loose leaving an enraged Neil Houghton in the wings, impotent and helpless.  
"Prime Minister, beat that." He shouted through the blend of stamping and cheering and turned round to stare defiantly at the PM who stood aghast and indecisive. He was no longer a politician appearing at the rostrum at a party conference or a would be rock star. The TV cameras had caught and transmitted the last two minutes of the Storm Riders performance on prime time television. As Muddy Waters might have told him, his mojo definitely wasn't working now or would it ever work in his life.

When John woke up, he felt enormously elated and refreshed in comparison with the way the wounds of his psyche had been opened up and had bled all over the carpet. Perhaps this was John's way of self-preservation through the ultimate rebellion to rise from the ashes of his former self. 


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Betaed by Jen and Hunca Munca. 

Part Fifteen

As Dr. Kay Scarpetta travelled in a cab towards George's office, she reflected that this unexpected meeting was providing a more than interesting break in her busy schedule, of lectures to endless streams of medical students. In her usual job as Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia, she really spent very little of her time passing on the knowledge of her profession, the endless investigation of crimes, testifying in trials and administering the Virginia medical examiners' system, overloading her days well beyond capacity. She did hold a position at the national Forensic Academy, but her other commitments never allowed her to do as much teaching as she would like. So, when she had met Zubin at a medical conference some years before, and he had suggested her doing a couple of week's teaching for him every year to the new influx of medical students, she had jumped at the chance. This enabled her to pass on the knowledge of how to investigate an unexplained death, and it gave her a very welcome break in her day to day activities. She had been over in England for a week already, when Zubin had put this latest problem to her. He had explained about his patient, and how there was some question over how he had died. Zubin had told her of meeting with his patient's wife's barristers, and how what they really needed was an expert pathologist. Well, what was she but an expert in unnatural or unexplained deaths. So, here she was, travelling across London in a cab, heading off to meet one of Barbara Mills' barristers, someone by the name of George Channing. After making sure that Kay was agreeable to meeting with her, Zubin had contacted George the day before to arrange the time. He had been planning to accompany her, but he had been kept in an operation longer than expected. When Kay had asked what this George Channing was like, all Zubin had been able to say was that she was very pretty. As they entered the much smarter streets of Knightsbridge, Kay was forced to admit that George had a far more glamorous location for her office than she did back in Virginia, with her office there being on the outskirts of the city, amongst all the other investigative paraphernalia of her trade. With all this in mind, she paid the taxi driver, and presented herself at reception, her mind entirely open to the possibilities this meeting might raise. 

When George's secretary brought Kay upstairs, George was at first surprised to see that she was alone. "Professor Khan sends his apologies," She said in what was definitely a cultured American accent. "But he got caught up in surgery." "That's no problem," George said, taking in every inch of this woman's immaculately dressed frame. "I get the feeling that this case is going to be fraught with such difficulties from start to finish. Thank you for coming," She said, holding out her hand, which Kay shook. "Would you like some coffee, Dr. Scarpetta?" George asked in her perfect drawing-room politeness. "Please, call me Kay," Kay assured her, gratefully sinking into one of the chairs grouped around the coffee table in George's office. "I've been called Dr. Scarpetta by more students than I care to remember over the last week or so." "Ah, yes, the virtues of the proverbial mockery of decorum," George agreed with feeling. "Every time I'm in court, I am referred to as Mrs. Channing, even though I haven't been married for nearly twenty years. The only judge who ever seems to remember that I'm divorced, is the one I was married to." George had no idea why such a piece of personal information had slipped out so easily, but this beautiful woman, with her petite stature, ash blonde hair and blue eyes, seemed to draw confidences from her without even asking. "That must be something of a problem," Kay said with slightly widening eyes. "Only when we get into a row and he bangs me up for contempt," At which Kay couldn't quite hide a smile. When their coffee arrived, George said, "As you are clearly well acquainted by virtue of your profession with the consequences of such a disgusting habit, will you object if I smoke?" Kay smiled broadly this time. "Not at all," She replied. "As long as I can join you." Then, at the look of surprise on George's face, she added, "Doctors are just as human and just as infallible as everyone else, George. We smoke, eat bad food, and drink caffeine and alcohol just like the rest of you." "That's good to know," George replied, gratefully reaching for her ashtray and putting it on the table between them. 

"So, how much has Zubin told you?" George asked when she had lit a cigarette and taken a long drag. "The patient's name was Henry Mills," Kay began, digging for some cigarettes of her own. "Aged fifty-eight, and was suffering from the final stages of terminal lung cancer. This was pronounced inoperable and untreatable by either chemotherapy or radiotherapy, on a thorough examination by, Connie Beauchamp," She added, searching her enormous memory for the name. "Zubin was suspiciously quiet on the subject of Mrs. Beauchamp's professional skill," George put in, clearly impressed at Kay's almost total recall of the facts. "Which makes me wonder precisely why the prosecution might recruit her." "Having met her a couple of days ago, I wouldn't be in the least surprised," Kay agreed with her. "She is what you might call forceful, in a self-assured, arrogant manner and who is obviously used to flattening anyone who lands in her path." "Sounds like a woman after my own heart," George said in eager contemplation, clearly itching to tangle with such an object in the battlefield of court. "I'm serious," Kay assured her. "And just how long did it take you to work all this out?" George asked with obvious interest. "About five minutes," Kay replied without the hint of a smile. "She gives off an even tougher exterior than I usually do. However, by the sounds of it, her surgical skill really can't be called into question." "The police, in their infinite wisdom," George continued regretfully. "Have charged our client with murdering her husband, primarily because she did help her previously terminally ill husband to die. Now, I am not here to discuss the rights and wrongs of what she did last time, because I personally believe it to be irrelevant. Barbara, our client, maintains that her husband committed suicide. I suspect, though I have absolutely no proof of this, that the pathologist who did the original postmortem, was informed that he had been murdered, and therefore didn't look for any possibility. I am not attempting to cast any aspersions on your undoubtedly noble profession," She added, seeing the brief flare of professional pride and protectiveness in Kay's eyes. "But I do know how the police often react in situations such as these, and I do sincerely believe this to be a probability. What we need you to do, if possible, is to perform a second postmortem, and to attempt to establish what really happened. I am entirely prepared for the fact that my client is lying to me, though in truth I don't think she is. What we simply need is a second opinion, someone to look at this with a fresh perspective. Now, I can see that you have at least a dozen questions, so please fire away." 

"First of all," Kay began, digging a pad and pen out of her handbag, and taking a swig of her coffee. "Why does Barbara Mills have two barristers?" "I can see that particular question is going to crop up every time we find a new witness," George said with a rueful smile. "Both Jo Mills, no relation to Barbara, and I are friends of Barbara's, at least I like to think we are. This case is perhaps far more personally important to both of us than professionally. Jo is a criminal QC, whereas I chose to follow the path of civil law. I found that the financial reward was somewhat more lucrative. For the purposes of Barbara's case, I am acting as Jo's junior, even though I hold the same rank of QC as she does." "I see," Kay replied, clearly impressed. "Well, seeing as you've given me your credentials, it seems only fair to give you mine. After finishing medical school, I did my law degree at George Town, Washington, after which I obtained my specialty in pathology, with my subspecialty in forensic pathology. I worked my way up through the medical examiners' system of Dade County, Miami, and was then made Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia in 1983, and I've been in Richmond ever since. I also work on a consultancy basis for the FBI, as their consulting forensic pathologist, as well as occasionally teaching at the National Forensic Academy." "And I thought my life was busy," George said dryly, in an effort to cover up how astounded she was. "It doesn't leave much room for anything else," Kay admitted quietly, and George got the fleeting feeling that Kay hid an enormous emptiness beneath all her professional achievements. "Would you like to see a copy of the original postmortem report?" George asked, thinking that if she wasn't careful, she could sit and talk to this woman all day. "No," Kay replied without hesitation. "I prefer to examine a body with a completely open mind. The police say Henry Mills was murdered, your client says he killed himself. I'd like to stay on neutral territory until I know for sure. If I do discover that your client is telling the truth, would you require me to take the stand in any resulting trial?" "Yes, if at all possible." "Something you must think about before you actually decide such a thing," Kay said carefully. "Is whether or not you are willing to put up with the bad publicity that may be dragged up by the prosecution? I haven't ever featured in the British press, at least not that I know of, but it wouldn't be an exaggeration to suggest, that institutions such as The New York Times and The Washington Post have created an entire archive, for the information they have published about me over the years. In some cities back home, I am considered a liability to have in any courtroom. Not because of the reliability of my testimony, but because of the publicity certain major events in my life have attracted. The best thing for you to do is to first of all find out everything you can about me, before you decide whether or not you really do want me as a witness. I would be doing your client a severe disservice if I didn't give you this prior warning." "Couldn't you enlighten me yourself?" George asked, not remotely put off by the prospect of bad publicity. She had defended enough utter scoundrels in her time to no longer give a damn about such things. "Whilst the archives of the press might give you a somewhat biased view, they will show you the stance that the prosecution is likely to take, if you should choose to have me appear on the stand, rather than to simply stipulate my report." "Right," George said, thoroughly understanding her logic. "It sounds as though I'm in for a shock." "That is highly likely," Kay told her with absolute certainty. "Now, what I do need before I can proceed with the second postmortem, is the permission of his next of kin, your client I presume." "That can probably be obtained for you today." "In that case, I'll contact the mortuary that is currently holding him, and have him transferred to St. Mary's, where I can work on him tomorrow if possible." 

A little while later, as George dropped Kay back at St. Mary's hospital, she couldn't help but take another opportunity to visually check out this new acquaintance. She was poised, petite, and immaculate, the tailored grey suit complementing her perfectly. She was on her way to court, to catch Jo in the lunchtime adjournment, and to possibly spend a little while with John if he wasn't too busy. St. Mary's had been a little out of her way, but it had provided her with ample opportunities to get to know Kay Scarpetta a little more. When she drew up in the car park of the Old Bailey, she saw that the adjournment had obviously already begun, because there Jo was, standing at the top of the steps with a cigarette in her hand. "You look as though you truly need that," George commented as she approached. "You have no idea," Jo said exhaustedly. "Yes, I do," George smiled fondly. "However, I am here to tell you that your work won't be ending with the final adjournment this afternoon. I have enlisted Dr. Kay Scarpetta, who is, I must say, the most ravishing pathologist I think I've ever met in my life, but she needs Barbara's permission to do the second postmortem." "And you want me to go and see Barbara after court this afternoon," Jo concluded tiredly. "If possible," George replied. "You do the sympathetic touch far better than I do." "Then perhaps it's about time you learnt," Jo said icily, immediately regretting her outburst. "I'm sorry," She said, finishing her cigarette and flicking the end down the steps. "The case not going as planned?" George asked, knowing just how frustrating a morning in court could sometimes be. "No, not in the slightest," Jo said bitterly. "And I really think hell must have finally frozen over," She added with a short laugh. "Because I am actively considering completely forgetting any hint of discretion, in order to get a cuddle from you in public." "You must have had a bad day," George said with a broad smile. Then, much softer and with far more feeling, she added, "Save the thought of it till later." "Hmmm, I will," Jo replied almost contentedly, giving George's hand a brief squeeze as they moved towards the doors to go inside. "Do you happen to know whether or not our Lord and master is busy today?" George asked as the doors swung too behind them. "Well, he was in a particularly vile mood in court, so I should imagine he's hiding," Jo said ruefully. "I haven't seen him like that for a long time." "Ah," George said in understanding. "I'll go up and see him then, and persuade him to lighten up a bit. Oh, and I think you and me will have some fairly hefty reading to do tonight." "Why?" Jo asked ominously, knowing that after a day like today, all she would really want was a long soak in the bath and a good night's sleep. As George filled her in as to Kay's slightly cryptic warning, Jo's face darkened in disbelief. "You are joking?" She said, her anger clearly rising. "George, the last thing we need on this case, is some overgrown government official who's managed to get herself more bad publicity than some of your ex-clients. Just because you are used to defending some of the most despicable human beings I've ever met, does not mean you have the right to jeopardise this case." "As I assume you don't want an audience," George said a little acidly. "Shall we leave this till later?" "Yes," Jo replied, calming down a little. "I'll go and see Barbara, and if the worst happens, we can always submit Kay Scarpetta's report as evidence without questioning her." As Jo walked away, and George retreated outside to her car, she reflected that any passing court officials would think this was like the old days, her and Jo fighting in public, just as they once had done on so many occasions. She didn't want to see John now, because she knew she would end up telling him about their disagreement, and he didn't need that on top of everything else. She would see Jo later, they would sort everything out, and she would go and see John tomorrow when she was feeling happy again. 


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: This chapter is jointly written. One of the headlines is taken from Patricia Cornwell's The Last Precinct, but the rest are mine. Betaed by Jen. 

Part Sixteen

Jo was grateful to put some distance between that massive stone edifice of the ancient court of law in which she had spent so much of her life. She needed a break but, after a trying day, could not mentally face up to what must come next.

Suddenly, a train of thought spirited her away with her eager consent from the pressing needs of the moment. The Old Bailey was a building that was her place of work, which she took for, granted as somewhere where she moved around as her natural right. It was something, which she did not think about as there was never enough time in her life to contemplate something so abstract. It hadn't always been like this. An image leapt into her consciousness, one that had been so deeply implanted in her mind as if it were a part of her DNA and therefore buried in her unconscious. That was of a black and white TV depiction of that massive domed roof and the symbol of the scales of justice perched on the summit. It symbolised ancient majesty and one of the most powerful depictions of evenhandedness that could be conjured up. So rightly had that physical depiction been created, something that ancient craftsmen had laboured long and hard on and had swung it up to the very top of the edifice to announce that value to all and sundry. It was a shame that, right close up, it was so difficult to see. She had watched black and white films centred on the Old Bailey and that had been her initial guiding spirit that had propelled her to her destiny. She knew that John had been similarly driven and that she had been deeply influenced by him on a personal level, second hand through this same shared vision.

She had arrived back at her parked car without knowing how she had got there, sat in the driving seat and lay back as she smoked a cigarette. She knew that when she had extinguished it, she would phone Karen on her mobile and make the necessary arrangements to interview Barbara. Dog tired though she was, she could face the reality of what she had to do. It almost didn't matter how desperately tired she felt. After the event, she always knew that she would rise to the occasion. The course of action was clear enough. It was just a question of doing it. As she fumbled in her handbag for her mobile, she checked her watch and it was four thirty. She was relieved to see that the icon 'battery low' didn't flash up. She had a tendency to not bother recharging it until it was needed at a critical time and let her in for scouring the streets for that increasingly rare sight, a phone box that was unvandalised. "I wanted to see if it is convenient to see Barbara a little while later this afternoon"  
"How soon is soon?" enquired Karen. At this time of the day, there was plenty of time to fit her in for an interview, even allowing for London traffic.  
"As soon as it takes to get to Larkhall from the Old Bailey which is where I am now"  
"You've even got time to share a cup of tea as well with Nikki and me if you want," Came her cordial reply.  
Jo smiled gratefully at the kind offer.

As she engaged in the cut and thrust battle to edge her way through the rush hour traffic, she reflected on how unspeakable John had been. The normal patient courtesies that he had displayed were conspicuous by their absence. There had been occasions in the past when she had deliberately pushed her luck but her interventions today had been smacked down in short order. She had seriously wondered, not for the first time, that he was going through some mid life crisis. At some point, she would have to speak to him inside or outside court and would have to edge her way into discussing the matter. As the shiny new Audi powered its way just across in front of her, causing her to brake sharply, she ended up suspending that background contemplation of matters more distant and stuck to the job in hand. John and everything else not immediately connected to the matter in hand could wait till later. That was her philosophy of coping with challenges.

With something like a growing feeling of familiarity, Jo passed through the front lodge.  
"You know the way, madam." Ken's friendly voice was more a statement than a question and Dominic was on duty to welcome her.  
"Do you want to see Barbara now or perhaps see either Nikki or Karen first?" Dominic queried in his friendly, helpful fashion.  
Jo debated the matter in her mind. It would be pleasant to sit back and take it easy in friendly company but her evening was already going to be taken up scouring through computerised newspaper archives. Business first, a little mild relaxation later, she concluded. "I'd better see Barbara first. I may not have time to drop in on Nikki and Karen later on even if they are available."

Jo strolled down the corridors to the private room and took her place in the cramped space. She placed her briefcase at her side and waited patiently till a polite knock at the door heralded the arrival of a slightly concerned Barbara. She was puzzled at the message of a second visit by Jo and had been trying to work it out.  
"I'll be outside the room for when you've finished," Dominic tactfully explained, covering two purposes in one explanation for his presence.

"I know you must be a little surprised at me coming back so soon after last time," Jo's pleasant voice and reassuring smile grabbed hold of the conversation from the start. "But there's been a development in the case which I had to see you to ask you for your permission or otherwise"  
Barbara studied Jo's manner carefully. She had seen Jo in action on a number of occasions and had had pleasant experience of her before in that far off time when they had played together in the same orchestra. She judged that Jo was not trying to conceal bad news as a doctor might to an incurably ill person like, like … her husband. "Please continue," Came her invitation in the precise tones of Middle England offering cucumber sandwiches.  
"What I didn't know last time I saw you is that there is available to us the opportunities and advantages of the Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia, Dr. Kay Scarpetta. She is perhaps the highest authority in her field"  
"Which is, Jo"  
"As a pathologist, to being able to definitely establish what led to the unfortunate death of your husband"  
The expression on Barbara's face tightened and a look of fear flashed across her face. Jo felt uncomfortable as she spoke. The situation could so easily be reversed. She could imagine so easily Barbara's intense desire that Henry's body be left physically in peace after his sufferings over the months before his death.  
"I know that you are doing what you think is for the best for me but don't you have any idea what that means. Remember, I've lost two husbands, both dear to me the same way. Does it have to be this way"  
Jo licked her lips and deliberated before she carefully articulated her reply.  
"I can't hide it from you that it means conducting a postmortem and all that it entails. I would never suggest it if I didn't think that there are good reasons"  
Jo's voice trailed away. The barrister side of her personality was setting out what was mathematically a good case but sometimes equations didn't feel like emotional sense. Two strands of thinking were starting to twist against each other till she found the will and inspirational thinking to carry on.  
"…….I have to advise you that, thinking dispassionately as I have to do, so much of this trial will depend on medical expertise. If we don't double check for ourselves, some vital clue, something that neither myself nor any of the legal profession that I will know, could remain undetected. We are simply handing over a vital area of ground to the prosecution. I can never in all good conscience, fail in my duty to give you my best advice to my client. This is a vow I made to myself that I could never break"  
Perhaps it was the way that Jo's voice broke for a fraction of time with emotion or that Jo's statement of her ideals was so close to her form of Christianity. Either way, Barbara could not help but be swayed by her. If it took that to gain her freedom, then so be it. Barbara could feel Henry's tangible presence in the room smiling down on her with quiet approval. "I must explain that we don't know what Kay will find, so you mustn't get up any false hope"  
"That doesn't stop me having faith." Barbara's very quiet, slowly articulated words and direct expression pierced Jo through and through. A woman like Barbara had the knack of making Jo feel that, for all her knowledge, she had a lot left to learn in life.  
"You must have faith. You must indeed." Jo nodded her head vigorously and a tear or two welled up in her eyes as Barbara's kindly gaze settled on her.  
The conversation veered off sharply towards lighter, inconsequential matters which suited both of them until Barbara suddenly asked the question which had been at the back of her mind all along. "If you don't mind me asking, Jo but when will it be done"  
Barbara's reply was polite but it was plain to Jo that she did not want to dwell too much on the details.  
"I understand that it will be tomorrow." "That quick?" Barbara raised her eyebrows before slipping into a Shakespearian quote which surprised Jo slightly. "Well, if it were done, it were best done swiftly." "If that is all right by you," Jo carefully replied.  
"Quite sure," Came the definite reply with strength of purpose behind it.

Presently, when Dominic escorted them both back to the wing and to the welcoming smiles of Denny and the Julies, "Why don't you pop in and see Nikki and Karen while you're here. By the off chance, they're both in Nikki's office"  
Dominic must have taken a few lessons from Coope in gently moving situations along, Jo thought as she noticed the ready smile, which accompanied his soothing words.  
"I don't know," Jo said hesitantly. "I've got more work to do tonight"  
"You're worse than Karen if that's possible. A break will do you good if you don't mind me saying"  
Jo felt a sudden rush of tiredness run through her system. She did need that break when she thought about it.

Nikki poured a cup of tea for Jo and Karen drew up a chair as Jo wearily made her way into the office. She did need this period of time to let go and her throat was parched with all the talking all day, both here and in court. She accepted a cigarette eagerly and sank back in her chair. They chattered in a leisurely fashion and enjoyed the companionship together. After a while, her promptings of conscience began to get in the way of her enjoyment. Her mouth made the right sounds but she didn't feel them the way that she wanted and occasionally, to her embarrassment, her reply was out of sync with the preceding comment. Both Nikki and Karen smoothed away Jo's faux pas with the fluency that came natural to them. Finally, Jo stubbed out her second cigarette, which she had left to smoulder away in her fingers.  
"I'm sorry. I really am not the best company right now. I must be getting on to do what I'm supposed to do. I can't afford to let things slide"  
Nikki's eyes flicked between Jo and Karen. Karen was the worst workaholic that she had known, especially since she came back from the conference. She could feel Jo's tangibly compulsive desire to be elsewhere but was tactfully silent upon the matter.  
"Well, whenever you're round these parts, don't hesitate to look us up, Jo," Nikki said casually as she rang for a prison officer to see her on her way. In the meantime, while Jo made her exit, her mind was already in the next scene, to where George was waiting for her and remembered the little squabble she had with her earlier on. However, this was the least of her problems because that was the way things were between them these days.

When Jo arrived at George's later that evening, she had calmed down considerably since lunchtime. She shouldn't really have said what she had to George, but bad publicity aimed at their expert witness was definitely the last thing they needed. When George opened the door, she looked relaxed, as if the harsh words of this morning were entirely forgotten. "How did it go with Barbara?" George asked as Jo moved into the hall. "Fine, and I rang the hospital and spoke to Dr. Scarpetta, to let her know to go ahead with the postmortem tomorrow. She does have a nice voice, I'll give you that," She added with a smile. "Rolls over you like honey, doesn't it," George said, the slight gleam of lust in her eyes. "You're incorrigible," Jo said fondly, drawing George into her arms. "And I'm sorry about earlier," She said, after they'd exchanged a softly lingering kiss. "Oh, that's all right," George said airily. "Any random observer will think it's just like the old days, you and me scrapping at every possible opportunity. They'd never even suspect we were sleeping together." "I think John's been far too much of a bad influence on you over the years." "Yes, more than likely," George agreed, moving into the kitchen to pour them a glass of wine, before they began on the evening's work. 

"Did Kay give you any ideas as to where to start?" Jo asked, as they both drew chairs up before George's computer. "She suggested the New York Times and The Washington Post. So, whilst I was waiting for you, I familiarised myself with their archives, and I found enough headlines about our, dear, chief, to make John's bad press look like fairy stories in comparison." "Oh, well," Jo said philosophically. "It should make interesting reading if nothing else." "Jo," George said carefully. "I've not read much of it, but from what I have seen, I think you might have been right, in what you said at lunchtime. If the likes of Brian Cantwell got hold of some of this, her testimony in this case would be history." "Show me, and only when we've seen the worst of it, will we make a decision," Jo said quietly, now willing to at least give Kay's publicity a fair hearing, before doing anything rash. "Let's start with the most recent," George began, clicking the mouse and bringing the monitor back to life. "Because I think the few I found will give you plenty to think about." As she began to scroll through the various headlines that the Washington Post had accumulated about Kay over the years, Jo began to get a fractured picture of someone who had lived far too much in the public eye, and who's every misfortune had appeared in print. 

"FBI lover comes back from the dead," Read one, dated 2003, followed by a picture of a man in his late fifties, with silver-grey hair and a world weary face. 

"The world of law enforcement has been brought face to face with the resurrection of one of its most valued and cherished profilers, Benton Wesley. Chief Medical Examiner, Kay Scarpetta, thought her FBI lover and most trusted colleague to have been killed at the hands of Carrie Grethin, one of the most notorious serial killers of the age, back in June of 1998. Imagine her shock, therefore, when she is presented with the unbreakable evidence that her lover faked his own death, in order to go undercover, and bring down the Chandonne criminal cartel from within..." 

"There are numerous stories along the same lines," George filled in as they read. "I just can't imagine that," Jo said in total horror. "Thinking someone you loved was dead for over five years, only to then find out they were still alive." 

"Killer, or victim," The next one read, dated December 1999. 

"Jean-Baptiste Chandonne was last night apprehended as he tried to attack Chief Medical Examiner Kay Scarpetta in her home in Richmond, receiving a particularly severe injury for his trouble. Believing this man to be the killer of several people in the Richmond area, Dr. Scarpetta retaliated by dashing formalin in her attacker's face, rendering him blind from caustic burns to the eyes..." 

"Good God," Jo said with a wince. "Not quite how I would choose to defend myself," George said dryly. "But there you are." 

"Wolf man blinded as he enters home of Chief Medical Examiner." "Has Le Loup Garou finally met his match?" "Beauty and the Beast: a crime of fury." 

The headlines went on and on about this particular event, seeming to become even more wild and speculative the more they increased. Then, perhaps the biggest shock of the night so far. 

"Chief Medical Examiner to be tried by grand jury." 

"The Chief Medical Examiner, Kay Scarpetta, is to be tried by a Richmond grand jury, to decide whether or not she should be indicted for the murder of Deputy Chief Diane Bray, who only joined the Richmond Police Department some months ago. Dr. Scarpetta, is currently refusing comment. Readers may remember that just before Christmas, Dr. Scarpetta threw formalin in the face of a man trying to gain entry to her Richmond home. When questioned by the press at the crime scene of Diane Bray's murder, Dr. Scarpetta also refused us comment. Was this because she knew only too well who had committed this crime?"

"That's ludicrous!" George exclaimed in anger. "She's gorgeous, she wouldn't kill anyone." Jo laughed. "George, I knew that John was unfailingly naive when it came to female beauty, but I didn't think you were quite as bad. Besides, if she had been found guilty, she would hardly still be in her job, now would she." There appeared to be nothing immediately prior to the incident of the formalin, until they reached June of 1998. 

"FBI lover killed on the job." 

"FBI profiler, Benton Wesley, was yesterday found dead, after the most recent of a series of fire related deaths that have called such officials as Dr. Kay Scarpetta, Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia, and Teun McGovern, head of the arson investigation department of the bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms to the scenes of the crimes. Dr. Kay Scarpetta was called to the scene of the third in this series of fires, to find that her own lover, the FBI profiler Benton Wesley, had become the latest victim..." 

And so the stories went on, many of them to do with Kay's involvement with Benton Wesley, and his tracking down and eventual capture of the psychopath serial killer, Carrie Grethin, in the Bowery in New York. 

"Chief Medical Examiner kills for the third time in self defence." 

"Third time?" George queried, her entire body breaking out in a cold sweat. "Just who has Professor Khan introduced me to?" "It does say self defence, George," Jo reminded her. 

"The Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia, Dr. Kay Scarpetta, has brought her total number of self defence killings to three." 

"They make it sound as though she makes a habit of it," George said in disgust. 

"Whilst Carrie Grethin, the female accomplice of the serial killer Temple Brookes Gault, was yesterday apprehended in the Bowery of New York city, the Clyde to her Bonny meeting his end under a train in a subway tunnel, after being stabbed. Dr. Scarpetta is persistently refusing to comment, though the information has been leaked that the knife Gault was stabbed with, was a scalpel he had previously stolen from the Chief Medical Examiner. Temple Gault has always been assumed to be the killer, or at least one of the killers, of thirteen-year-old Eddie Heath, a prison Governor and a prison guard from Richmond, as well as Scarpetta's former morgue supervisor, Susan Storey. Whilst the general public can only feel a sigh of relief at the capture of Carrie Grethin and the death of Temple Gault, it must surely be noted that this is the second time the Chief Medical Examiner, Dr. Kay Scarpetta, has killed in the name of self-defence in the past three months. Back in October, the public will remember that she shot Mrs. Denesa Steiner, at the same time saving the life of her long time friend and colleague, Captain Pete Marino. Is the Chief Medical Examiner perhaps becoming more than a little trigger happy?"

"I couldn't have put that question better myself," George said dryly, thinking that never again could she be shocked or surprised by anything. "It's all sensationalist rubbish, George, anyone can see that." "Oh, come on," George said with disgust. "Not even the Sun would print a blatantly fabricated lie, and the Washington Post and the New York Times, are far more reputable. There must be something in it." "Well, like it or not," Jo said matter-of-factly. "She's going to do the second postmortem tomorrow, and we need to decide what we're going to do about using her as a witness, or merely submitting her report as evidence." "You want to use her, don't you," George said, closing the computer down because she thought they'd probably read quite enough for one night. "Look beyond the headlines," Jo replied with a sympathetic smile. "And I suspect you'll find someone who's had to fight against the odds for most of her life. That is precisely the kind of person we need on this case, someone who is used to fighting with everything they possess. She must have an endless supply of severe determination, in order to still be functioning after all that." "I would like to be as optimistic as you are," George said regretfully. "But is Barbara's case worth putting trust in someone you've never even met." "You have met her, and spoken to her," Jo told her seriously. "And until you read all this, you liked her. I think it might just be time, to put some faith in your initial impressions. When she's done the postmortem tomorrow, talk to her, and use the opportunity to iron out some of the things that bother you. For all we know, the prosecution might not even think to look in the American press." "You would, if you were acting for the prosecution, wouldn't you." "Yes, I would, but Neumann Mason-Alan rarely thinks along such sensible lines." After a moment's far away thought, George broke the silence with, "I wonder what it's like, to kill someone?" "You've clearly not defended enough killers," Jo said quietly. "I'm serious," George insisted. "I mean, to talk to her, she's so normal, that to contemplate her killing three people, never mind one, is pretty much unthinkable. I just wondered how she's managed to come out of it so sane, that's all." "Well, ask her," Jo said with an encouraging smile. "She might just tell you." 


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Seventeen

During most of Thursday morning, George's thoughts kept straying back to the evening before, and all the headlines and stories she'd seen involving Kay. She didn't want to believe that someone as stunning and articulate as Dr. Scarpetta could possibly have killed even one person, never mind three, but the truth did have to be faced. What would such an experience do to someone? How could they possibly come out of something like that and still function as a perfectly normal human being? Whilst she talked to other clients, and wrote up reports of various cases, she couldn't help persistently wondering how Kay was getting on. George was ninety percent sure that Barbara was being truthful with them, but she had been in this job long enough to realise that one's client wasn't always honest with their lawyer, especially when it concerned such a serious charge. If it turned out that Barbara was concealing what had really happened, George knew that Jo would feel bitterly betrayed. But just after eleven thirty, her musings were brought to an end. "George Channing," She said on answering the phone. "George, this is Dr. Scarpetta," Came back the rich tones of the woman behind the headlines. "How did you get on?" George asked her without further delay, and Kay could hear the unmistakable barrier of uncertainty that now existed between them. "Your client is telling you the truth," Kay told her seriously. "I just need to find a way to prove it, which isn't something I can do with the antiquated equipment the hospital has here." "Right," George said with a distinct air of relief. "So, what will you need to do?" "First and foremost, I need to talk to your client," Kay explained. "Because I need her permission to take various tissue samples back to Richmond with me, where I can use photographic enhancement and histology to hopefully get you some useful answers." "I should imagine I could arrange that for this afternoon, if you could fit it in." "I'm finished with my lecture series over here, so yes." "I'll contact Barbara's Governor," George replied. Then, after a moment's thoughtful pause, she said, "Would you like to come here first and have lunch? I think we need to talk." "You did quite a lot of digging last night, didn't you," Kay said quietly. "Yes, you could say that," George admitted sheepishly. "I don't blame you for having misgivings, you know," Kay said gently. "I'm not sure that I'd want me as a witness if I had the choice." "I want to trust you," George tried to explain, feeling that this would be far easier said over the phone than face to face. "It's just not a situation I've found myself in before." "I wish I could say that it's not something you get used to, but it is." "I'm not afraid of a witness's bad publicity," George insisted. "I'm just not used to being that wrong. When I met you and talked to you yesterday, the impression I got was of someone who is one hundred percent dedicated to her profession. I'm just finding it a little difficult to put the woman I met yesterday, with the woman discussed in all those headlines and stories I read last night." "That's what I'll try to straighten out," Kay assured her. "And believe me, I do appreciate your honesty. It actually makes quite a refreshing change." 

When Kay arrived at one o'clock, she looked neat, clean, and not in the least as though she had been digging around in human flesh all morning. Trying to banish such thoughts from her mind, George poured her a coffee, and they began on a tray of sandwiches that was laid out on the coffee table. "Just out of pure, scientific interest," George said, nibbling at a slice of cucumber. "How on earth, does one transport human tissue samples across the Atlantic?" "Dry ice," Kay said succinctly. "It won't be the first time I've been stopped at customs with less than desirable cargo. Some officials are even brave enough to try and unpack what I'm carrying, just to see what it is. I'll contact the airline before I travel. It's supposed to make things like this easier, but it rarely does. How did you get on with your client's Governor?" "Well, seeing as Karen Betts is what you might call my ex, asking for the odd favour isn't a problem." "Oh, I see," Kay replied, trying to hide the fact that she was attempting to figure out this puzzle. Yesterday, George had mentioned once having been married. Yet now here she was stating that she had also had an affair with a woman. Oh well, Kay thought philosophically, some people really did like both. "So," She asked, finally arriving at why she was here. "Just how much did you read last night?" "Quite enough," George said without hesitation. "Let's start with Diane Bray, and your appearance before a grand jury." "Ah yes," Kay said in bitter memory. "Possibly Le Loup Garou's most creative achievement, to have me suspected as the perpetrator of one of his crimes. Whilst all that was taking place, Chandonne agreed to be extradited to New York for one of his previous murders, meaning that he was never even tried for what he did to the two women he killed in Richmond, never mind the night he tried to kill me. However, I don't really see what the prosecution would do with that, because I wasn't indicted, and therefore wasn't subsequently found guilty." "We also found quite a lot about Benton Wesley," George said carefully, realising that this would probably be a very closely guarded subject. "That's not relevant," Kay said quickly. "Nothing about what Benton did could possibly reflect badly on me as a professional. Me as a woman perhaps, but not me as an expert in suspicious deaths." "I quite agree," George said gently, seeing that Kay would put up with very little probing on this particular issue, something for which George couldn't possibly blame her. "What we do need to talk about, however," She continued slowly, as though she were approaching a python in its den. "Is the three people you have killed, because I think we both know that the prosecution will make everything they possibly can out of something like that. Perhaps in your country of origin they wouldn't, but over here, I can assure you they will." 

Lighting herself a cigarette and taking a long drag, Kay tried to explain. "Frank Aimes, Denesa Steiner, and Temple Gault. Those three names will be engraved on my memory till the day I die. I'm not sure what you want me to tell you, except that if I possibly could have taken any other course of action, I would have done. All three of them were killers, Aimes and Gault both serial killers, and no, that doesn't make what I did in any way right. When you begin working in law enforcement, you learn very rapidly how to use a gun, because one day it could mean the difference between life and death. You get into a regular routine of practicing at the range, and of cleaning your gun afterwards, so that you're always ready to defend yourself. I can safely say, that if I didn't do what I did on all three occasions that I ended someone's life, I certainly wouldn't be alive to talk about it. Each one of them was horrific, but Gault was probably the worst. He'd been on the FBI's 'Ten Most Wanted' list for years, and all of us, me, Benton, and Captain Marino, had been picking up the pieces of his crimes since the late 1980's. Gault murdered his sister, in Central Park on Christmas Eve, and left her bleeding, naked body in the snow by the fountain, which was where too many of us began Christmas Day of 1993. Death doesn't stop just because it's Christmas, and Gault knew we would all flock to the scene of his latest crime. A few days later, Gault and his accomplice broke into my Richmond office, and he stole a set of very valuable scalpels that my niece Lucy had given me the year before. When Carrie Grethin was finally apprehended in The Bowery, Gault escaped, and took my niece hostage in the subway tunnel. When I reached them, he was holding one of my scalpels to her throat. Gault wanted me to kill him, because he knew that if I did, I wouldn't ever be able to forget him. In dying at my hands, he would have his last feeling of contact with his victims. He knew I'd been the one to examine some of them, and he saw me as the connection with them. So, as you read in the press, he got what he wanted. I wouldn't go near a train death for months after Gault was killed, and you're right, a prosecuting counsel will make a ten course meal out of this." "It's nothing we can't deal with," George said quietly, feeling a surge of inexplicable protectiveness for Kay, seeing that it must have taken the determination of a greyhound for her to survive. It hadn't gone unnoticed with George that Kay had very successfully skirted over the precise details of what she'd done, but George thoroughly understood why. "Jo was absolutely right about you," George added with a self-deprecating smile. "She said that all I had to do was to look beyond the headlines, because someone who was prepared to fight that much on a regular basis, was someone we definitely needed on this case. It's a shame you couldn't have met her before you go back." "Tell her thank you for the vote of confidence," Kay said with a smile, thinking that she was going to thoroughly enjoy working with these two women, different as the circumstances of the case may be. 

As they drove towards Larkhall, George tried to fill Kay in on some more of the background to the case. "Barbara actually met her husband when she was in prison last time. He used to be the prison chaplain. Jo and I got to know her, when Jo took on a case for another ex-criminal, and we sort of became part of an entirely new group of people. Before this last year, I can safely say that I wouldn't have been seen dead in the company of a group of ex-cons, but I've learnt that every single one of them whom we've come to know, is far more genuine than the numerous law abiding people I've been forced to mix with over the years, all in the name of professional advancement." "That's often the way," Kay agreed with a smile. "Captain Marino, the police Captain I've worked with for over twenty years, is the rudest, roughest, most tactless redneck I've ever met in my life, but he's also the best cop I've ever had the pleasure to meet. Marino might not go about his job in the nicest way, but if there's an answer to be found, he'll find it, and he always manages to keep me on my toes." "Yes, John always seems to achieve that with me," George said ruefully and then tried to explain. "The judge who I used to be married to." "I wish I could talk about my ex so fondly," Kay said with a smile. "That's almost certainly because he's not quite as ex as he probably ought to be, if I had any sense," George replied as she turned into the car park. "That sounds complicated," Kay tentatively suggested. "Very," George agreed with a laugh, bringing the car to a stand still in front of the gate lodge. 

Karen was waiting for them, standing chatting to Ken as she saw them approach. "This is a nice surprise," George said, kissing her cheek. "I didn't expect a welcoming committee." "Curiosity won out," Karen told her with a smile. "I wanted to meet this star witness of yours." "I wouldn't speak too soon," Kay said with a nervous laugh. "Karen Betts, Dr. Kay Scarpetta," George said, introducing them. Then, to Karen, she added, "Did you tell Barbara we were coming?" "Yes, Nikki should be bringing her down now." As they went through the perfunctory body and handbag search, Karen and George seemed to find it easier to chat than they had done last time. The presence of someone else seemed to give them both the courage and the level ground they needed. They followed Karen down to one of the legal interview rooms, where Barbara and Nikki were already waiting, with Gina sitting outside the door. "Ain't seen you in a while," Gina said upon seeing George. "Ah well, I haven't felt the need to do an impromptu shift recently," George replied with a rueful smile. "One evening last January was quite enough." "Are you working on Babs' case?" Gina asked with interest. "It looks like it. How is she today? Jo told me that Barbara sometimes gets claustrophobic." "She gave Sylvia a right mouthful the other day, so she can't feel that bad." When they went into the interview room, George introduced Kay to Barbara, and Nikki and Karen left them to it. 

"When Jo came to see me yesterday," Barbara began. "To ask my permission for the second postmortem, I assumed that was all you would need." "That was before I found what I did this morning," Kay explained, having taken a seat across the table from Barbara. "Let me first of all tell you, that I have no doubt whatsoever, that your husband committed suicide, for which I would like to offer my sincere condolences. The problem arises, in my being able to prove this beyond all reasonable doubt to a judge and jury. With the photographic equipment that St. Mary's hospital currently possesses, I cannot possibly prove whether you administered that final injection, or whether Henry did, which is why the initial postmortem report cannot prove your statement. However, with the image enhancement and microscopy techniques that I have at my disposal back in Virginia, I am fairly certain that I can prove, that the injection couldn't possibly have been given by you, because of the angle that the needle pierced the skin. Does that make sense?" "Yes, I think so," Barbara said a little hesitantly, trying to take this all in. "Now, the only way for me to do this, is to take various blood and tissue samples back to Richmond with me. As Henry's next of kin, I need your written permission to do this, but I also wanted to explain why I thought it necessary." "Yes, of course," Barbara said with widening eyes. "If you feel it really will help." "I can't promise it will achieve what I want it to achieve," Kay told her seriously. "But I can tell you that there is an eighty percent chance of my being able to prove this, but as I said, I can't do that here." "This may be a stupid question," Barbara said carefully. "But how will you take what you need back home with you?" "I'll pack the samples that have already been removed in dry ice," Kay explained. "They will be quite safe until they can be placed in the freezer in my Richmond office. Now Barbara, are you sure that you are perfectly okay with my doing this?" "Yes," Barbara said firmly. "If you think it will help to get me out of here, then that's fine by me." 

When they'd left Larkhall behind, and George was driving Kay back to St. Mary's, Kay eventually broke the silence. "I shouldn't say it," She said with a self-deprecating smile. "Because I've been in the job long enough to know better, but she really doesn't strike you as the type to end up in prison, does she." "I thought exactly the same thing, the first time I met her," George agreed. "Mrs. Middle-England, I think Nikki once called her, and she really was every inch the vicar's wife. Several members of the bar council got involved in a performance of Haydn's 'Creation' a few months ago, and we held the performance in Henry Mills' church. We made up a few of the gaps with various people who weren't lawyers, and Barbara was one of them. She played the harpsichord. I knew then that she'd been behind bars before, but I never thought she'd end up there again." "So," Kay asked, eventually raising the unavoidable subject. "Am I to stand as a witness, or am I not?" She had realised during the interview with Barbara, that part of George was testing her, seeing just how she would deal with the woman whose case they were discussing. "I would like you to take the stand, if you are agreeable to it," George told her, having thoroughly abandoned any hesitation she might have had. "Whatever bad publicity the prosecution might choose to throw at us, I think we can handle it. Most of all, Barbara needs your expertise, and I'm not about to deny her a one and only chance, just because I'm afraid of ruining my already questionable reputation." "Thank you," Kay said quietly. "You know, usually I'm in court to give the victims of crime a voice, because I am the only way that the dead can speak to a jury. They need me to interpret whatever has happened to them, something which can't always be put into words. But this time, I'm fighting for someone who still has a life to lead once all this is over. For once in my life, I'm not fighting for the victim of crime, but for the victim of injustice, perhaps a far more deadly enemy than murder itself." 


	18. Chapter 18

Part Eighteen

Nikki's mind had been turning matters over in the back of her mind about Barbara's forthcoming trial from the moment that she arrived at Larkhall. She realized that her role would be to sit on the sidelines. She was pleased that a wealth of expertise was being drawn in to buttress Barbara's case as solidly as it could be. She was highly impressed by the very real intellectual presence of the attractively cultured American accent of Kay Scarpetta. Nikki was no automatic respecter of high flown inflated titles but even the obviously distracted Jo's casually tossed aside description of Kay as a chief medical examiner with a law degree told Nikki that Kay was someone quite out of the ordinary.  
Once the combined talents of Jo and George were engaged to battle it out in court, Nikki had no obvious role except to take a keen and active interest in Barbara's case and her welfare. She was wing governor after all and she had both the power and the authority to see that while Barbara was in her care, that she would be properly looked after and that the likes of Di and Sylvia were kept at arms length. After all, if she had not fallen in love with Helen, she could quite legitimately have done the same for her. It was only after having settled into Helen's old job that that happy realization came to her after all this time. Sometimes, you have to actually be in the situation to be finally and fully aware.

There was a difference between her and the other awesomely and professionally qualified women who were helping Barbara and that was that she knew Barbara of old. Sharing a cell all those months meant that assumed attitudes and polite social fronts went right out of the window. Added to that, you were thrust into an environment where, with the best prison officers' will in the world, events happened which might be a close kept secret from officialdom for years, if not forever. Nikki's musings over history led her effortlessly to the vision of that other written historical record which she had overlooked, Barbara's diaries. You have to start to look for something in order to find it, Nikki smiled to herself. This is where she came into the picture.

"Barbara, can I have a quiet word with you if it's convenient." Nikki's soft polite voice reached the ears of the other woman while she was chatting to the Julies.  
"Sure Nikki," answered Julie Saunders for the other two. "We'll soon catch up with you later"  
The raised eyebrows were answered by Nikki's short nod when Barbara led the way to her cell. Nikki was about to reach for a cigarette to make her feel relaxed when she remembered just in time. It was a curious thing that every single friend of hers was a smoker with the exception of Barbara and John. After that conference, she ceased to think of him as purely the judge.  
"The reason I wanted to have a quiet word with you was that I remembered about the diaries that you used to write when we shared a cell. I can still remember lying in my bunk and hearing you talk about them. You said you'd always kept a diary so that you could clear your thoughts if I remember rightly"  
"Goodness. That takes me back a long way. I'd forgotten about those set of diaries"  
"You were intending to have them published to show up the prison system as it was," Pursued Nikki in a leisurely fashion.  
"You know what it's like, Nikki," Barbara smiled uneasily. "You couldn't get away from the injustices in this place. They haunted you day and night"  
"And when you were released"  
"I had every intention of getting them published but it was different out of prison. I married Henry and I had so much of a new life opening up for me that everything before then was unreal, God forgive me"  
Nikki laid a friendly hand on her shoulder as Barbara broke down and reached for her handkerchief to mop up the tears that she had bottled up. Nikki instantly regretted the tack she had chosen. She knew in her own mind how she was going to approach the topic but had forgotten that Barbara wouldn't be aware of this line of conversation. She cut to the chase at once as soon as Barbara had recovered.  
"You weren't thinking of getting them published, were you Nikki?" she asked, slightly nervously. "That would give weight to Neil Grayling's political enemies. They would have a field day of it. The reason why Karen and I can sleep more or less easy at nights is because he keeps the 'hang them and flog them brigade' off our backs. Our cards are probably marked after that conference we went to. Much though I would like to see certain individuals publicly pilloried for what they did or didn't do, it just isn't worth the backlash. No, my reason for being interested in your diaries concerns you and you alone. The reason why I'm asking isn't for a stroll down memory lane but in particular if you kept up your diary writing up to date"  
"Well, you don't have to be worried, Nikki," Barbara replied with a grin.  
"I was thinking if you kept up your diary while Henry was ill. It might be useful evidence for the trial"  
Barbara stared as the force of Nikki's quiet words struck home. Of course, she had kept up her diary. In happier times when Henry was well, the mood was soft and relaxed and basking in her feelings of utter content but during Henry's illness, it was that tiny fraction of time that she could leave to herself, usually written while Henry was semi dozing and quiet.  
"I did keep the diary, come to think of it. Writing it was my only link with sanity"  
"Can you remember what you wrote in it with any accuracy?" Nikki asked gently.  
Barbara shook her head. Writing the diary was a form of therapy to keep at bay black feelings of despair, which had threatened to overwhelm her. She had been brought up to ideas of bearing adversity with Christian fortitude and that despair was the ultimate capitulation that you should never make. It was a touch and go affair when Henry's sufferings were at their height. It was a tall order to now recall what she had written day by day. A part of her didn't want to remember. "Would it be easily available?" Nikki asked slightly more sharply. What did concern her was if it had fallen into the wrong hands. As far as Nikki knew, they had no immediate next of kin that were sympathetically inclined, certainly not her stepchildren.  
"Good heavens. I hadn't thought of that." Barbara Nikki reached for her mobile. The one person she recalled who had fetched some clothes and personal things in was Yvonne. She was also the one to turn to in a matter like this.  
"Hi, it's Nikki. I was wondering if you could do Barbara and I a small favour?" Nikki started to say. "So long as it is legit. You know me these days," Teased Yvonne.  
If Yvonne was in the same room, she would have thrown a cushion at her, Nikki sighed impatiently, as she carried on in controlled tones.  
"I'll get to the point. You know when you fetched some of Barbara's clothes"  
"Yeah"  
"Would you be able to go back and lay hold of Barbara's diaries? I'm only asking because of a particular diary that she kept before Henry died. It might contain evidence of Barbara's state of mind that could be produced in court if necessary. We want to ensure that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands and gets sat on or misused against her"  
Yvonne's smile widened. She had been ahead of the game. She had had the coolness and presence of mind to look carefully round the vicarage and had methodically picked out what Barbara might need. As an afterthought, the words 'Barbara' and 'diary' had jumped out of her capacious database of a memory and with practiced accuracy, located exactly where Barbara might keep a diary and had laid hold of it. The plods had worked in their time honoured uninspired Inspector Lestrade fashion and a bit of Yvonne Atkins' past accomplishments were used to a purely good purpose.  
"As we speak, Nikki,"Yvonne responded with intolerable smugness." It is in safe custody in my house, which is safer than your average nick. I shall do whatever Babs wants doing with it"  
"Thank Christ for that. Hang on while I talk to Barbara"  
"I was thinking that it would be a good idea if Jo and George had sight of the diary to check out if they think it is a good idea for that to be produced in evidence in court. If they don't think so, then it can be returned to Yvonne's charge. Of course, you have seen enough of courts to know what that means," Nikki concluded gently.  
"I rely on their judgment," Barbara responded promptly. "Yvonne, you cling onto it and wait to hear about it. I'll talk later"  
"You top executives know how to live, Nikki," Was Yvonne's parting shot and Nikki stuck her tongue out at the silent mobile.  
Just then, there was a loud rap at the door. It was Di.

"We were looking everywhere for you, Nikki," Di said with limpid eyes. "Miss Betts was looking for you. You might have left word where you're going. There's only so many of us here"  
Don't rise to her, Nikki thought to herself. Just smile sweetly and don't let her have the satisfaction that she's got to you. She got to her feet and lounged against the cell wall.  
"Your concern for my welfare is touching, Di. I ought to make a note of it when you come up for your annual report. Anyway, gotta go, Barbara." 


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Nineteen

It was Friday morning, and by eight thirty the hospital had sprung to life, with various early morning disasters cluttering up the emergency department. As Connie and Zubin accompanied a patient up to theatre, Connie called to Tom who was strolling ahead of them down the corridor. "Tom, we could use your help here," She said, without the merest hint of a greeting. "Where's Will Curtis this morning?" Tom asked turning to face them and taking another bite from his breakfast. "He's been on duty all night, so I've sent him home," Connie replied curtly. "We've got a knife through the chest, a victim of a road rage attack on the way to work, hardly surprising with this traffic, so I could do with another pair of hands." "Jesus," Tom replied, glancing down at the patient on the trolley. "That's just what you need on top of a bacon sandwich." "That is a truly disgusting habit," Connie told him sternly. "Eating on the job." "And what about the old adage of breakfast being the most important meal of the day?" Tom threw back as he walked along beside them still munching. "Try a coffee and a croissant at home before you come in to work, Tom," Zubin told him conversationally. "It allows you to start the day far more gently." "Are you getting too old to hit the ground running, Zubin?" Tom teased him. "In your dreams," Zubin quipped back, pushing the trolley ahead of him through the swing doors into the theatre. As he and Connie walked into the scrub room, Tom finished his bacon sandwich and brushed the crumbs from his fingers, unwilling to sacrifice his breakfast for anyone's high minded principles. 

They'd been at it for nearly an hour, painstakingly trying to remove the six-inch blade without endangering this man's life even more. "What on earth possesses anyone to drive round with a knife like this in their car?" Connie asked into the silence, her gloved hands immersed inside the man's chest cavity. "A wish for revenge or self-preservation, I suppose," Tom replied, carefully trying to cut round the knife whilst Connie held the blood vessels in place. When the phone rang, Zubin took his eye off the monitors to answer it. "It's Chrissie, for you," He said, looking over at Connie. "Put her on speaker phone," Connie told him, unable to remove her hands from inside the man's chest. "Connie," Chrissie began. "There's been a call for you from a Brian Cantwell. He wants to know if you can meet with him later today?" "Is he still on hold?" Connie asked. "Yes." "Tell him I'll see him at five this afternoon, and also tell him never to disturb me in theatre again. Is that clear?" "Crystal," Chrissie replied firmly. "Thanks, Chrissie," Connie called to her, just before she ended the call. "Secretaries should be banned from going off sick," She added, as if the woman who usually did her bidding was nothing more than a robot. "Who's Brian Cantwell?" Zubin asked, getting a feeling that he really didn't like. "Oh, only the barrister who will be prosecuting Barbara Mills," Connie replied far too casually. "I knew it," Zubin said furiously. "You just had to get involved, didn't you?" "Professor Khan, she killed him, what more is there to it?" "If you believe that," Zubin told her exasperatedly. "You must be even more bitter and twisted than I already thought you to be." "Oh, it's started," Connie replied, sounding utterly bored. "I knew you'd be like this, protesting her innocence from the word go." "That's probably because she is innocent," Zubin said disgustedly, as if spelling out some simplicity to a witless child. "Rubbish," Connie said curtly, determined to make her point sink home. "Barbara Mills killed her husband, and nothing, I repeat nothing, will convince me otherwise. You do know it isn't the first time she's done it, don't you?" "Where on earth did you hear that?" Zubin asked, not having thought this was common knowledge to the prosecuting team. "Prosecuting counsel filled me in, the last time I spoke to him," Connie said smugly. "She helped the last one to die so that she could get her hands on his money, and she presumably helped this one to die because he was becoming too much of an inconvenience." "Just because you're so flippant about your marriage," Zubin threw back hotly. "Doesn't mean everyone else is about theirs." 

"Cut it out, the pair of you!" Tom finally exploded, slamming the scalpel down and straightening up to look disapprovingly between them. "I have had quite enough of this. Theatre is neither the time nor the place for such an argument. You're both obviously convinced you're right, and to be honest, I really couldn't care less who is right. We are here to try and save this man's life, not so that you two can persist in scoring points off each other. Will the pair of you for god's sake drop it until after this operation? We've got very little chance of saving this man's life as it is, so let's try and give him our full attention, shall we." There was a stunned, slightly awkward silence, only punctuated by the beeps of the cardiac monitor and the regular rush of air from the ventilator. "Thank you," Tom added, almost in relief. "But Tom..." Zubin tried to get another word in. "I don't want to hear it, Zubin, so leave it." "One would be excused for thinking that you have assumed your previous role as headmaster of this joint," Connie said conversationally, refusing to admit that Tom had successfully made her shut up. "At least I don't take the mistress part of the other variable to heart," Tom said as an aside. "Just because you're jealous," Connie taunted him, now switching her argumentativeness to him. "Jealous of Mubbs Hussain getting his rocks off? You must be joking," He said in disgusted reproach, immediately annoyed by Connie's low, husky laugh. "Oh, Tom," She almost crooned. "You'll have to get up a lot earlier to get me going with that old bit of gossip." "Why, who's in the picture at the moment?" Tom asked, feigning disinterest. "Well, now, I'd say that was probably none of your business, wouldn't you agree?" Connie replied silkily, as Tom was finally able to remove the knife that had pierced this man's left ventricle. "Just taking a passing interest in my colleague's personal life, that's all, just in case she should ever be indiscreet enough to bring bad publicity down on her own and the hospital's head." "No chance," Zubin said with a mirthless laugh. "Connie's far too adept at that particular pastime to allow it to influence her working environment." "Just for once, Professor Khan, you are absolutely right. Though, whilst we're on the subject of my professional reputation," She added a little icily, her voice dropping to that seductive level that a snake may use to lure some unsuspecting prey to its den. "If, when I take the stand in due course, I should hear one, single word of either my professional or personal inadequacies, I shall have both you, and the defence team you appear to be supporting, back in court for slander. Do we have a deal?" "Only if you also keep to the bargain, Mrs. Beauchamp," Zubin replied, seeing that she really was deadly serious. "Because I wouldn't want professional rivalry of any kind to be a deciding factor in Barbara Mills' fate." "Very well," Connie said stonily, realising that he had her over a barrel but being entirely unwilling to admit it. "But I would warn you not to take my threat at all lightly." 

After the patient had been stitched up and moved to intensive care, Connie left to do a ward round, and Tom remained to see the patient settled in. "Tell me some more about this legal battle of yours," He casually invited, as he and Zubin set up the various drips and monitors the patient required. "Henry Mills was fifty-eight, and was examined by Connie, who told him that he had inoperable lung cancer, which also wouldn't have benefited from chemotherapy. So, all we could really do was to provide palliative care and pain relief." "Which is where you came in?" Tom clarified. "Yes. He wanted to be cared for at home, something his wife, Barbara, was perfectly happy to do. So, I taught her the usual, how to give an injection, and how to manage the morphine, and I visited him on a regular basis to keep his pain relief at a satisfactory level. He died less than a couple of weeks ago. The postmortem report claims he was murdered, and Barbara claims that he killed himself. Either way, he died from an overdose of morphine. Having got to know both of them pretty well over the last couple of months, I believe Barbara. But Connie, in her infinitely bloody-minded wisdom, thinks otherwise. I'm not certain, but I'm guessing that the prosecution have taken her on, because they want to avoid the defence claiming that he died from natural causes." "Do you think he could have done?" Tom asked. "Anything's possible with cancer patients, you know that as well as I do," Zubin said ruefully. "The overdose might not have been intentional for all I know. There might simply have been a build up of morphine metabolites in his liver. He wasn't exactly moving around very much, so his body would have gone in to a temporary stasis, but Connie thinks that this idea is also ridiculous." "Is the defence team looking for a cardio thoracic expert of its own?" Tom asked, the slight gleam of the fight in his eyes. "Yes, they are, if only to cover their backs," Zubin replied, seeing just where this was going. "I would be willing to get involved," Tom said carefully. "If my expertise could be put to some use." "I was categorically warned not to use this case to settle any scores," Zubin told him honestly. "Well, it looks like that went out of the window this morning," Tom replied with a laugh. "So, does this barrister have a name?" "There's two of them," Zubin told him happily. "George Channing and Jo Mills, both of whom could probably win this case on female beauty alone. They both knew Barbara before all this happened, which is why she has two QC's working for her." "Well then, we'd better give them something to fight with, hadn't we," Tom said a little jubilantly, rubbing his hands in anticipation. He was all too aware that he was probably signing his professional death warrant by getting involved in a fight with Connie, but he simply couldn't resist. He didn't usually agree with Zubin Khan on anything whatsoever, but this time he did. He wasn't entirely convinced of Barbara Mills' innocence, because he hadn't yet heard all the facts, but anything to make Connie Beauchamp admit she was wrong. That was worth all the serenity of a quiet life any day. 

At lunchtime on the same Friday, George was sitting at her desk, picking from a bag of grapes as she worked. She didn't want to have any work left that needed doing over the weekend. She hadn't seen John since the weekend before, and she wanted to check on him, to make sure he was all right. But she was unexpectedly save the trouble. When the knock came on her office door, she called come in, assuming it to be one of her colleagues. But when John put his head round the door and enquired whether or not she was busy, she got up from her desk with a smile. "No, at least not with anything that can't wait," She said as he came in and closed the door. He looked somehow lost, adrift, as though what he really needed was some sensible reassurance. When his arms went about her, he felt as though he was coming home. He hadn't felt quite himself ever since last Saturday, but far less so since the therapy session on Tuesday. He almost wanted to tell her about it, to explain to her why he was doing this, but he managed to restrain himself in time. If anyone knew about him having therapy, he knew he would feel under pressure to make it work. But here he was, stood in George's office, holding her close to him. She smelled familiar, the combination of cigarette smoke, perfume and shampoo incredibly comforting to him. "Are you all right?" She asked, after kissing him gently, having missed his company over the last few days just as much as he had hers. "Not really," He admitted miserably. "Are you still fretting about last weekend?" She asked, knowing he probably would be. "Wouldn't you be?" He demanded belligerently. "Oh, darling," She said in sympathy. "I don't really know what to say, except that worrying about it will probably make it worse." "Oh, great," He said in disgust. "John," She said calmly. "I am aware that you've been looking for a fight in court all week, so please don't do it with me." "Is that what Jo told you?" He asked, feeling slightly admonished. "She only said that you were taking out your mood on everyone in sight." Walking over to a chair, John sat down, and drew her down onto his knee. "Are you trying to completely shatter my professional reputation?" "Well, isn't it about time yours was as bad as mine?" He replied, raising a slight smile for the first time since he'd arrived. She reflected that there really was something to be said for taking a little time out in the middle of the day like this, to sit as close to him as she was now, with his face against her neck. She could feel the uncertainty in him, the need to return to something normal, something he used to think he could count on. "I love you," She told him softly, thinking that he probably needed to hear it. "Even though I'm going through a midlife crisis?" "Yes," She told him firmly. "Because you will get over this. You didn't stop loving me when I lurched from one crisis to the next, at least I don't think you did, so I expect that it's allowed to work in your favour for once." "What if it doesn't sort itself out?" He asked, his main fear now coming out into the open. "John," She said with a fond smile. "The things you are capable of doing to me in bed, or anywhere else for that matter, is not the sole reason why I love you." "I was lying in bed last night," He told her a little shame facedly. "Thinking about you, and Jo, separately and together, and nothing." "John," She said, trying to hide a smirk. "I think you're trying too hard. I know it's difficult, but you really do need to try to forget about it. The more you stress about it, the less co-operative your body is likely to be." "Perhaps," He agreed noncommittally. "I'm supposed to be seeing Jo this evening. I've barely talked to her since I returned from the conference." "Ah," George said in understanding. "The light begins to dawn." "How do I tell her, that I don't want to make love to her?" He asked, the full force of his insecurity showing in his face. "Just tell her," George tried to persuade him. "She won't mind." "But it's not something I've ever said to Jo before." "There is a first time for everything, darling." Then, she tentatively added, "You could always tell her why you don't want to make love to her." "No way," He said without any hesitation whatsoever. "Absolutely no way." "Okay, calm down, it was just a suggestion," George said placatingly. "But if you won't talk to Jo about this, I want you to make me a promise, not to dwell on this as much as you clearly have been this week. Going without sex for a little while won't do any of us any harm, and the sooner you stop worrying about it, the sooner it will come back." "Okay," He agreed reluctantly, seeing that she really did mean what she'd said. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it." George laughed. He always did have to have the last word on a subject, even if what she was asking him to do was for his own good. "If I didn't have to work this afternoon," George added with a smirk. "I would want to know everything you fantasised about last night. There's nothing I like better than knowing that someone has been thinking about me in such a manner." "You're just bad, that's your trouble," He said with a laugh, kissing her to make himself feel better. He knew she was right, but it didn't make the prospect of his night with Jo any easier to contemplate. 


	20. Chapter 20

Part Twenty

Yvonne really didn't want to make that particular phone call to Roisin but it had to be done.

Her hand hesitated at picking up the rather ornate phone in the living room and she took a sip of the glass of wine instead. This wasn't exactly Dutch Courage but she really didn't want to make the call, not even to either of her two old friends. Of course, they all had busy lives these days, that internal voice wouldn't let her off the hook as easily as that. Of course Cassie and Roisin were engrossed with their children at the age when kids want them for one hundred and one different reasons, from taking them to one of those new multiplex cinemas to helping them out with their homework. She had enough on her hands, discreetly watching over Lauren as she intermingled her daytime job with her therapy sessions, the combination of which kept her on the alert. Never assume that kids are adaptable, she said to herself. She had made enough of a mistake when Lauren and, yes she had to say the name, Ritchie, were growing up. Quality time was one of those bollocks words that, to Yvonne's questioning, skeptical mind, were as airy-fairy as you can get. All that meant was that you thought too bloody much about your own life and let too much go by so that you couldn't see your own kid's troubles until they hit you over the bleeding head.

She reproached herself for this when she remembered the times when they were all banged up together. Even with all the shit that went down in their lives at Larkhall, they always found time for each other. From early morning unlock to the cell door slammed shut at night, the pressure was on, in their heads, in the restrictions on even the most natural human functions and that never totally suppressed awareness of what they were missing on the outside. It also bound them together, Yvonne cursed herself bitterly, and meant that, outside the periods of tedious boredom, she was more intensely involved in the lives of her fellow prisoners, than any group of people she had been around. Charlie's mates were nothing like that. It was as if she saw them through the wrong end of a telescope as she laughed at all their stale jokes, so many times told which didn't improve with repetition.

It wasn't like that these days. Oh, she had her Lauren whom she watched over in her maternal fashion but that wasn't the same. At times like these, her morose brooding made her feel that life felt as flat as last night's leftover's glass of wine. She stared for several minutes out of the window as her mind faded into blankness. Outside, the wind was whipping past her house and blowing from the branches what remained of the leaves of the trees at the bottom of the garden. That time of the season was starting to bind her inside the house once again.

What was that shape that hovered at the edges of her vision, she lazily wondered. Only the phone, she concluded and a sharp arrow of fear pierced through her. It was the train of thought having come round full circle that she had started off when she had first poured the glass of wine in terms of minutes ago beyond measure.

Sure, she reminded herself that she had made the round of calls when the news first broke from a phone call out of the blue from Barbara. She had done what needed doing that day in making the scattering of phone calls to all those nearest and dearest to Barbara. Because Barbara was not close to any of Henry's family (nor Peter's come to that) it meant that most of Barbara's friends were hers. It was only when she got to talk to Barbara's friends from the church that she was on foreign territory but she persevered right through the list that Barbara had given her. It was no more than she expected of herself. True, she had also offered to front the legal bill and had gone with George to talk to Barbara about the trial. She'd even persuaded Barbara to accept George's help but that was a week ago. Since then, she's slipped back into her old routine.  
"Come on, get a grip on yourself," She muttered into her glass of wine before she laid it on one side and, discarding the thought to reach for a cigarette, her other emotional prop, her hand found the phone.  
"Yvonne, how lovely to hear from you. Cassie and I were talking about you only the other evening. It's really good to hear the sound of your voice"  
Bless her, Yvonne thought, tears pricking at her eyes. She found it easier than ever these days for her emotions to come to the surface. She hadn't always been allowed to act or feel this way. 'I must have some bleeding use these days," She replied in her tough self-deprecating way before a brief coughing bout interrupted what she had to say. Somehow, she had climbed out of the pit of self-recrimination and her business head was back on her shoulders. "I really want to see you but it's a bit of business as well. I hate to mention it but someone's got to sort out Henry's funeral"  
"…And it might as well be us, Yvonne"  
Quick on the uptake, Roisin, Yvonne judged. "Something like that"  
"So what do you think we should do? Come over here and we'll go and see Barbara"  
"I'll be over as soon as." It was as easy as that.

In no time at all, Yvonne and Roisin were bowling along in Yvonne's car to Larkhall. "It's a school inset day," Laughed Roisin. "Michael and Niamh have been planning to spend the day with friends of theirs and, while the teachers are busy on some training scheme, it left me free for today to rattle round the house for a change. Somehow it feels really strange"  
"Count yourself lucky, Roisin. I've always loved my kids being around but when Lauren and Ritchie buggered off somewhere when they grew older, I got to like having time for myself. It's just that I get too much of a good thing these days"  
"So, I'm glad I've helped"  
Yvonne grinned and steadied the car to power its way along the many miles again to Larkhall.

"Humph, so it's you again," Bodybag glowered at her old enemy. "…..and Connor back again, another ex- criminal. I never understood why Grayling was soft headed to let you out of here together with Tyler"  
"Saving a fellow human being's life wasn't it? You know, I never got to hear what you were doing at the time of the fire"  
Bodybag reddened a little while Yvonne grinned at the way Roisin promptly retaliated accompanied by her sweetest smile. She had never been cool and calm in any crisis, being far too inclined to stomp round the place if she felt she was in a position of power or to flap around like a wet hen if the situation were beyond her.  
"Let's be having you. I've got a job to do which doesn't mean having you two under my feet"  
"Sounds like old times eh, Roisin," Yvonne retorted cheerfully and grinned at Gina who came to greet them while Bodybag slunk off in the opposite direction.

Barbara came into view towards the back of the dimly lit, cavernous room. She raised her hand to attract their attention and both women threaded their way through the crowd. She was especially pleased to have Roisin's company as well as Yvonne's. A stream of conversation flowed between the three of them while they had time. It was spontaneous and Yvonne gave into the pleasure of seeing her old friend and saying what came natural to her. A little warning voice prompted her to interrupt the flow of words.

"There is another reason why Roisin's come along for the ride. It ain't just to pass the time of day"  
" I guessed so," came the polite reply as Barbara's smile faded slightly at what instinct told her was coming. It had to happen, a fatalistic side of her whispered in her mind.  
"I ain't sure how to put it into words, like, but Roisin and I volunteered, if you wish it and only as if there ain't someone better, to make the necessary arrangements for Henry's funeral"  
Even at a moment like that, Barbara registered the way that Yvonne's words changed from the unusually convoluted to the artificial. It showed her extreme nervousness about the matter. It was all too close to home.  
"It's kind of you to offer, Yvonne. I know that you've been through this sort of thing before"  
"…….I ain't that much up on vicars and praying….." muttered Yvonne under her breath. "Yvonne and I'll do everything the way you want to, that you can be sure of," Reassured Roisin eagerly. "Of course, I've been used to talking to parishioners coming round late while Henry…….." Barbara started to say as automatic habit took over. She promptly shut up as she remembered that her life being with Henry had ended with a brutal full stop.  
"You can't do it by yourself while you're in here. You know that Barbara. You need others to help you out," Pursued Roisin gently but more definitely. Barbara felt resentful about her present lot in life, which a part of her still fought against, but she could see the pleading look in Roisin's eyes not to shut them out. She saw that Yvonne was more poker faced about the matter but realized that she was the more uncomfortable of the two of them. It was only two years ago that her own dear Henry had conducted the funeral for Yvonne's own son, Ritchie and she had played the organ.  
So much had changed since then but she knew only too well that the hurt that Yvonne had felt would have only been covered up, not fully healed. She could not be unchristian in being preoccupied with her grief and just do nothing. The boot was well and truly on the other foot now .She finally faced what she knew would come to pass and started to give a mental once over to what she knew was involved. Barbara finally agreed to the inevitable but she could tell that Yvonne was really nervous and laid her hand on the other woman's.  
"Yvonne, I want to entrust this to you and Roisin. I know you'll find the strength to do it"  
Yvonne sat back in her chair, incredibly touched at Barbara's simple faith in her. Her time inside had taught her that there was no time for arid polite gestures, least of all between those who had both done time being locked up here.

"Hey, Babs, I don't mind admitting that I ain't used to looking in the classified section in the phone book to find a vicar to say prayers. Even if I do try lucky dip, I'm nervous about talking to some stranger as I'm still known in the outside world for fixing up for a hit man. You don't think that some posh vicar will be put off by the Atkins name." Barbara and Roisin laughed gently at Yvonne's apparent awkwardness. Roisin glanced sideways at Yvonne and rather suspected that this was Yvonne's very generous way of lightening up an awkward situation at her expense.  
"Henry was a well respected member of the cloth. There are any number of his former colleagues who would be proud to help out or point you to who should do it, especially if a friend of the family asks. There's an old boy's network in the clergy but in a good cause." "Do you want me to pick out some suitable hymns?" Roisin offered helpfully.  
Barbara looked dazed. This was something that she was used to being presented to her and thumbing through the well-worn music book at the pages, which fell open at the right page. She had never had to think about this before. She eventually found words to buy time to think.  
"Let me think over what Henry would have wanted"  
"Is there anyone you would want at the funeral that none of us know"  
Barbara thought long and hard and realized that she could only think of a few friends from their church local that she would want to go out of her way to invite. Yvonne thoughtfully passed a pen and notepad to Barbara to write down a list of names and phone numbers. A notice in the church would suffice for the rest. She had pinned this on the green baize rectangle so many times in the past out of sheer instinct for other funerals but, this time, it gave her a very unreal feeling that she was planning her own.

"What will I wear?" Barbara suddenly found voice after a few minutes of contemplation.  
"I'll bring in what you want and the Julies will sort you out with a makeover. They'll look after you on the inside along with Karen and Nikki while the rest of us on the outside look after you. All of us will be thinking of you. Don't ever get the idea that you're on your own"  
Yvonne's definite voice shook slightly with emotion. This visit gave her a purpose in life once more. 


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Twenty-One

As Kay settled into her seat on the Virgin Atlantic flight on the Friday evening, she abandoned all thought of sleep. She was sitting in the aisle seat, and the man next to her kept leering at her, trying to see down the top of the open-necked silk blouse she was wearing. Pointedly unfolding the newspaper she'd picked up in the airport, Kay tried to put him out of her mind. The plane roared, and eventually they were airborne, with a very long eight hours before they would be back on terra firma. She'd had one last cigarette in the bar at Heathrow, but now she wouldn't be able to smoke until she was back in America. This might be a good opportunity to give up again, she thought half-heartedly, but she didn't somehow think she would act on it. She was flying from Heathrow to Washington DC, where Marino would hopefully be waiting to meet her, ready to drive her back to Richmond, so that she could leave the contents of the ominous sealed box, that was sitting in the luggage compartment above her head, in the freezer in her office before going home. She was relieved that there hadn't been any serious delays, because although dry ice was a perfectly reliable way to transport human tissue, it would never do for it to thaw prematurely. She'd done a full day's work in the hospital morgue, with a few senior medical students who were considering specialising in forensic pathology, and now it was eight o'clock on the Friday evening. The really weird thing about going back to the States from England, was that because of the time difference, she would arrive in Washington at around eight in the evening, as if no time had passed at all. Having obtained a large scotch from the drink's trolley, she dug out a notepad and pen, and began composing a letter to George, partly to explain what she intended to do with the samples she had taken from Henry's body, and partly to keep her occupied for a while. George had been something of a surprise, her clipped, clearly upper class drawl combined with a dry sense of humour and a sensitive touch of kindness when dealing with her client. Kay could see that there was clearly a steely determination to succeed behind George's outer layers, and she knew that it would definitely be an experience to see her perform in court. As she automatically wrote the date and salutation at the top of the letter, she knew that she didn't really need to do this. She could just write George an e-mail when she went into work next week, or write it from home, but a letter seemed more conversational somehow, and anyway, she didn't have to send it. 

October 14th 2005: Seat 4, row 15, halfway across the Atlantic, (My current location). 

Dear George, 

I realize that this letter may come as something as a surprise in the circumstances, but an eight hour flight leaves me with far too little to do, and anything to stop the man next to me from staring at me as if I were the next angel incarnate. As I had predicted, customs were certainly less than amused at my unusual cargo, and it took every ounce of diplomacy I possess to persuade them to let me through without further investigation. It's at times like that, that I suppose my Chief Medical Examiner's identity shield comes into its own. I guess I can count myself grateful that I wasn't also trying to walk through with a gun. 

So, I thought I would take the opportunity, to explain to you what I intend to do with the samples I brought with me. The UK might pride itself on having such a thing as the National Health Service, but I know that America's Department of Justice puts far more funding into its investigative technology. The samples that are resting in dry ice as we speak are as follows: Excised skin and muscle tissue from Henry Mills' thigh. This is the most important sample, as it will allow me to examine the injection site far more closely, and will hopefully allow me to discover the exact angle at which the hypodermic needle pierced the skin. Sections of liver, spleen, kidney, heart and lungs. These will help me to ascertain just how static Henry Mills' body was. When a person is terminally ill, and especially if they are spending considerable amounts of time in bed, their bodies can go into a temporary stasis, with many bodily processes being in suspended animation. This can include anything from digestion to the workings of the liver and kidneys. This is only a hypothesis, and I won't know the answer until I've done some more tests, but it is just possible that Henry Mills might have died from an accidental overdose, rather than an intentional one. As a result of a temporary bodily stasis, his liver wouldn't have been metabolizing the morphine at the usual rate, meaning that it would take less morphine than prescribed to overload his system. But as I said, this is only a hypothesis. I also took several blood samples, just in case there were any underlying conditions resulting from the cancer that your state pathologist didn't look for. As I tried to explain to your client, anything is possible at this stage. 

I realize that this may all seem a little too graphic for you, but that's the way it is with a case like this. Being in civil law, you may not have come across a case of this nature requiring your direct attention before. I don't know, I am simply guessing. If I find what I'm hoping to find, I'm going to need to present plenty of photographs and possibly histological slides at the trial, and I am not about to mince my words on the stand. People who die, deserve the truth to be told about them, whether this be in court or anywhere else. I am probably so vehement about this, as a few years ago I was unfortunate enough to work with a commonwealth's attorney who insisted on stipulating my reports on every possible occasion. He had the rather nasty habit of avoiding the less palatable details, in favor of focusing on points of law. I suppose I feel that if I'm not in the courtroom, then neither is the person whose body I have examined. In this case, Barbara would not get a fair hearing, if I couldn't show the jury everything I possibly can. 

Talking of witnesses, I don't know if he's told you, but Professor Khan has found you a cardio thoracic expert, Tom Campbell-Gore. I've met him, and apart from being as arrogant as most other cardio thoracic surgeons, he's nice. That sounds dreadfully noncommittal, doesn't it, but I did only meet him for a few minutes. 

That brings me very nicely onto first impressions. George, I had to let you find out about my slightly suspect publicity in the way you did, because I couldn't afford to give you a watered down version of the facts, and have you blame me later for not knowing everything. It is quite rare for a defense counsel back home to use my publicity against me, but that's probably because law enforcement has been hearing and reading less than favorable coverage about me for years. I would fully expect a British prosecuting counsel to make use of it, however, because if they can focus on sensationalism rather than the facts I may present, so much the better for them. I really wouldn't have blamed you if what you read about me had frightened you off, but it was nice to be given a chance to explain. 

Well, I'll leave this slightly offbeat epistle here. You know how to contact me, and I'll let you know as soon as I come up with any results on the samples. 

Take care, 

Kay. 

A few hours later when they touched down at DC airport, Kay got up and stretched, her muscles feeling stiff from hours of sitting. She felt crumpled, tired, and thoroughly out of sorts, and they still had the hour and a half's drive to Richmond. She first caught sight of Marino as she walked through the barrier, pushing a trolley containing her briefcase, medical bag and the sinister-looking box. "Oh, shit," Marino's gruff voice said in greeting. "You been carting body parts halfway across the world again?" "Nice to see you too, Marino, and yes, there are human tissue samples in this box, which is precisely why I asked you to meet me. I've had quite enough interrogation by customs officials already tonight, and I can do without the extra hassle of getting a connecting internal flight to Richmond." "How did it go?" He asked, enquiring about her fortnight away as they waited for her bags to appear on the carousel. "Oh, not bad," She said wearily. "Anything horrific happen while I was away?" "Nothing out of the ordinary," He said as they walked towards the exit. "Too many shootings, the odd drug bust, you know how it is." "And how's Lucy?" Kay asked, referring to her thirty-two-year-old niece. "I ain't seen her. She's been closeted up in the Big Apple for ages now. She might fly down and see us now you're back. So, get up to anything nice over there?" "Only the usual. Oh, and I'm going back in February." "That soon, why? You suddenly found yourself a man over there or something? Finally weaned yourself off Benton?" "No, I haven't," Kay told him sharply. "And I thought we'd agreed that all discussion of me and Benton, if there is a me and Benton, are closed. It's hardly my fault that he changed so much, and became a virtually different person whilst he was away playing the living dead." Marino stopped and turned to face her, absolutely stunned by her more than harsh words. "I'm sorry," She said quietly. "That was a bit uncalled for." "Hey, no worries," He said, not wanting to push any more of her buttons tonight. When they emerged into the car park, Kay smiled when she saw his blue pick up truck. It was just one of the familiar things about being back home. "I can't believe you drove your truck all the way to DC," She said with a smile as he opened the door for her, and they removed her bags from the airport trolley. "What else was I supposed to do?" He asked in return. "Break into your house and borrow the keys to your nazi-mobile of a Benz?" "I wish you wouldn't call it that," She said, knowing he was referring to her black Mercedes. But as they kept on fondly bickering, and as Marino carefully manoeuvred his truck through the DC traffic, Kay began to relax. She was back home again, back within the familiar surroundings and with the man she'd known for nearly half her life. As she filled him in on the case she'd become involved in, and why she'd brought samples of human tissue home with her almost like souvenirs, she couldn't help but smile. No matter how brash, disgruntled and to the point Marino was, he always managed to make her feel herself again. A good while later as they left the interstate, she decided that she would fax that letter to George, she would send it from home, as soon as she'd slept off the jet lag tomorrow. 


	22. Chapter 22

Part Twenty-Two

It seemed that this Friday in court contrived to drive him to distraction to a point almost more than he could bear, especially when Neumann Mason-Alan was at his clumsiest and Brian Cantwell at his pushiest. Both of them had tenaciously locked horns with each other and only his periodic interventions, delivered in the weariest, most fed up tones, dragged the progress of the trial back on track for the unpteenth time. He was aware that he was being more scathing than normal but, then again, he felt compelled to give vent to his feelings, which were churning away at the depths of him while his very bored mind kept easy pace with the progress of the trial. The matter of the crime was a commonplace enough murder, if such a tragedy could ever be described in such a blasé fashion. The man in the dock had his eyes cast down the whole time and, to him, the process of law might appear to drone on to its predestined conclusion of a custodial sentence, the only question being, how long. The main players in this trial were all male and it was at times like these that he felt as if they were transported back in time to their long ago schooldays. Only the occasional glance at the twelve ordinary members of the jury and the accused kept him to the point of the trial and to keep within bounds.

"Court is adjourned till Monday morning when I shall give my summing up."

He couldn't wait to walk out of the door at the back of the court to his chambers so that he could relax in his favourite armchair and click on his Vivaldi CD. He yearned for the music, which lost him in a reassuring ordered world. As he paced the corridor, a suspicion edged its way into his mind that he was in a black mood, which had expanded the merely mildly tedious into something more than his spirit could endure. His eyes stared vacantly into space as he lay back and heard the music play. He barely heard Coope say goodbye in that concerned tone of voice, which a portion of his mind replied to in his unfailing courtesy to her. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he had not noticed that the room was silent, as the CD had finished. That again, was unusual.

As he restored the shiny disc to its case, a stray thought struck him. This was becoming more and more common as in days gone past, he had not gone in for any great periods of introspection as he had always prided himself that his flexible and quick-witted mind could seek out what he needed. It was this that gave him the confidence that he could deal with anything that life threw at him and keep him on the right track. He had made the well-reasoned decision to seek therapy after that catastrophic night at the Conference, which had brutally derailed him from one of his deepest certainties as to himself. From then on, he had been being assailed by thoughts that popped up out of nowhere, long forgotten memories, anything. He wondered if in seeking therapy, he had jumped out of the frying pan into the fire - that seemed a fair description of that gruelling meeting with Helen.

What was it he had said, as the words were wrung out of him, stretched tight upon the rack? "I need to feel loved, being physically close to someone, getting to know every inch of her body, and giving her as much pleasure as is humanly possible, is really the only way I can understand that feeling, or at least the pretense of that feeling. With Jo and George, making love is the only way I can show them I love them, and the only way I can believe that they love me. With a stranger, it just for a while, allows me to feel loved, even if I'm not"  
Why had Helen just abandoned him at that point when he had painfully and laid himself out for all to see, including himself. Those words were hardly the actions of the debonair, man of the world as he had liked to consider that he was?

He lunged desperately at something that would save him, anything and, galloping to the rescue like Roy Rogers riding Trigger in his beloved cowboy films was the memory of that extraordinary dream he had had on Tuesday night. It was not a habit of him to dream or, at least, not that he could recall. He usually had the occasional recollection of a vague multitude of assorted thoughts that had crossed his mind but they escaped his memory at the precise moment that he woke up. This one was different. He had to smile to himself at that most whimsical and incongruous memory, which was like nothing, he had ever encountered before. The idea of him performing the most spectacular practical joke on the very politicians who were dragging the ancient liberties of this country through the mud was so appealing, so enticing. These men of straw were only the older versions of the most arrogant prefects of the public school, complete. They gave their orders so imperiously while those craven, shameless self-seeking underlings like Sir Ian and Lawrence James did their bidding. John shook his head in bemusement. It was one thing to listen to a Black Sabbath CD with his daughter Charlie. It was quite another to perform such glorious barbarously unrestrained music up on stage. What was savage and unrestrained ripped apart the constraining proprieties that bound him in that he had grown up with all his life and was somehow righteous, most holy and blessed. Regrettably, it was a pipe dream but it had left him feeling refreshed, mentally invigorated when he had woken up the next day. It had made him feel good about himself, satisfied with himself to the depths of his soul. It was something he needed more than he had ever suspected. He needed to feel validated more than he had ever suspected, whether lying in the soft arms of the woman of his dreams, striking off the fetters of injustice with one blow of his most finely tuned words. Yes, and he added to the list, being transported to a better, finer world by the power of music either by Vivaldi or, smiling to himself, by being Eric Clapton. 

Somehow, everything he had ever done had slid downhill to a deflated, flat feeling at the end of the day. By some process he was unaware, he returned to the surroundings of the present from that mysterious alternative universe where he was lost in thoughts, saw that the room had descended into the sort of gloom to match his mood, looked at his watch and realized it was late. He had to go elsewhere. 

As he drove in his car, he knew not where the words he had spoken to George popped into his mind, 'Even though I'm going through a midlife crisis?' Those words were treacherous. He had heard the expression but never in his remotest imaginings did he ever think that those words had ever applied to him or would they ever. He felt in the prime of his life, fit as a fiddle, mentally alert, devastatingly attractive to women and like a fine wine, one that improved with age. That night that he had slept with George was an enormous blow to his self-esteem and, much though George had tried to reassure him, it didn't feel real to him. The frustrating part of having Helen as his psychiatrist, he cursed himself as he violently grated his change of gear upwards from second up to third, was that he was forced to deal with her as another intellect, one who was very steely and resolute in her purpose and one who could not be brushed aside or deflected. Up till then, she was the very friendly, vivacious woman who accompanied her partner, Nikki. All right, he admitted to himself, he liked being at the center, the focus of a variety of charming, beautiful women and was forced to consider that his admiration for the Larkhall women was not wholly platonic. What man was really different from him except a monk? It was that fortune gave him more scope, more talent and opportunity? So why did Helen make such a beeline for that particular topic?

He had driven some miles until he realized that he was unconsciously heading for Jo's flat. Oh well, let Jo be his destiny tonight. He had not talked to her properly for some time. Instinct told him that he needed her soothing, gentle quality right now.

Inside her flat, Jo was washing the pots from the meal she had cooked and heard the insistent bleep from her mobile.  
"It's John," Came the very weary voice. "Can I come and see you tonight"  
Jo knew instinctively that John wanted comfort more than words. Her time was her own and evening television was totally uninspiring.  
"I thought you'd changed your mind about coming over and had other plans," She enquired in a reserved tone of voice.  
"Making alternative plans is something I do not have the particular inclination for, personal or private"  
"Where are you right now"  
"Parked in my car nearly opposite your house. I don't know how I got here"  
Jo pricked up her ears. He had pulled this trick before but he had never owned up as to where he was phoning from. This was a novelty.  
"You'd better come in," she answered with more warmth than before.

A very weary John made his uncertain way through her front door. He blinked at the cosy domesticity of her very familiar flat. It ought to have felt familiar but nothing seemed familiar, least of all him.  
"Take the weight off your feet and I'll pour you a drink," She offered.  
"You had better make it a strong one," He sighed.  
Jo raised her eyebrows with concern.  
"Tell me what the problem's been?" Jo's soothing voice urged.  
"Is there a problem?" John instantly countered with the last dregs of that combative spirit of his.  
One steady knowing look from Jo immediately answered him and he shrugged his shoulders and surrendered as he virtually collapsed into a chair. In the meantime. Jo poured a slightly larger measure than he was used to which he drained in a gulp. This was certainly not like the normally temperate, abstemious John, that is abstemious except for one prominent aspect of his person.  
"Have you had as rough a week as you've dished it out to others?" Jo enquired in a friendly tone.  
"Have I really been that bad"  
Jo smiled at the very down in the dumps John whose reply was more of a sigh than the instant verbal parry which he was so good at, in and out of court.  
"From what I've heard you probably have and this has not come from your obvious enemies"  
Even in his present state of mind, John immediately produced a shortlist of two, George or Coope or both. He dismissed the likes of Brian Cantwell and Neumann Mason-Alan as possible informants as colleagues whose word Jo would be reluctant to take what they said on face value.  
"I probably have been as difficult and unbearable as they say," John said with a sigh.  
Again, Jo wondered how untypical it was of him to go in for self-criticism so easily.  
"I've had a few bad weeks of it. Can't explain it. It just sometimes happens that the sort of day to day inconveniences assume the size of a major irritation or source of depression"  
John really isn't talking at all about something major that is really troubling him so she decided to lighten the conversation. "I haven't seen much of you, not since the conference. You aren't telling me that you are finding it hard to keep up with your harem of demanding women?" Jo said with a smirk, fully expecting him to laugh heartily at the little jest Instantly, the expression on John's face was blank, as if a shutter had descended in front of him, utterly shutting her out. This really worried Jo.  
"I'm sorry, John. I must have said the wrong thing. It's not just the obvious like sex, it's just that I've missed you being around here. This place feels incomplete without you"  
"You can't be serious?" John asked, the expression on his face brightening with hope. His ego really needed a boost like that right now and he saw his way in to have the comfort of Jo's soft arms to settle him to sleep without the sexual ecstasy that accompanied it. An absurd train of thought, one of many these days, found it absurd to describe a night of passionate sex with a woman as 'sleeping with' her when it involved most of the night doing anything but that.  
"Even if you're down in the dumps, fifty percent of John Deed is worth more than one hundred per cent of any other man than I've met in my life."

A light looked as it was switched on in John's mind at that utterly sincere compliment from Jo, one of his dearest friends. It started to seep through the solid layer of negative feelings. He stepped forward and slid his arms around Jo and nestled his head on her shoulder. Jo instantly detected only his need for simple human affection from her. The low lights in the flat bathed them in simple intimacy.

A little while later, Jo refilled John's glass with a more generous measure, certainly enough to make it completely impossible for him to go back home to his digs.  
"Jo, this may seem an unusual request but I am really glad I've come to see you but I'm really tired. I don't think I feel at my best tonight. You can see that I'm hardly the best conversationalist, five out of ten I would give myself so I am hardly going to excel in any other way"  
Jo listened as John started to meander all over the place and let him continue until he became lost for words with which to express himself.  
"But you want to sleep next to me but you don't want to make love to me," Jo finished off the sentence, pertly with a hint of a smile on her face. John blushed very slightly, something that was a first for Jo and he looked down at the floor.  
"How did you guess what I meant"  
"John, just how many times have women from time immemorial resorted to that line when all they want is simple human comfort but no more? There is nothing you have to apologise for, least of all to someone you knows and loves you so well"  
John stared in wonder as a blinding revelation hit him and an enormous feeling of gratitude to Jo. He felt weak from the release from the tension of the day and of negotiating his delicate way to expressing the most hideously embarrassing confession of all time. An unearthly chorus of young fellow barristers, fellow students and fellow schoolboys had seemed to laugh at him in discordant harmony in his head even as he spoke. This was the hardest battle of all alongside which his worst set to with the Lord Chancellor's Department was as nothing. "Oh well, you live and learn," John finished lightly but badly failing to sound his normal nonchalant self. 


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Twenty-Three

John slept fitfully on the Friday night, his dreams filled with fear and uncertainty, though fear of what he couldn't say. Jo was very much aware of his tossing and turning, and when the clock edged towards seven on the Saturday morning, Jo turned over and put her arms round him. His body was extremely tense, his eyes holding that slightly wild, desperate look that almost begged her for reassurance. "I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you," She told him gently, softly running a hand up and down his back. "I can't," He said miserably, wishing he could but knowing that he didn't have the face to do it. "John, this is me you're talking to, not some random fling." "I know," He replied darkly. "That's what makes it worse." They lay quiet for a time, because Jo simply didn't know how to proceed. It was extremely rare that John couldn't talk to her, and she always felt utterly helpless when it did happen. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She asked him, hitting on something to buy him some time, if that was what he wanted. "Yes please," He readily agreed, seeing this as her tactic of lulling him into a false sense of security, before she started in on him again. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, she slipped out of bed and went to make the tea. As he lay, listening to the muffled sounds of her moving around in the kitchen, he couldn't help but think that George might have been right. How much easier last night would have been if he'd been able to tell her why he didn't want to make love with her. Not that it had really been difficult. It had taken him a while to getting around to actually saying it, but Jo had simply accepted it without explanation. Should he tell her? Should he abandon every shred of pride he possessed and tell her of his failure? This was all Helen's fault, he decided in a moment of abject fury. If she hadn't started him back on that road of admissions and self-discovery, he wouldn't now be contemplating doing such a thing. But that was ridiculous, his conscience told him scornfully, as it was he who had elected to start the therapy again in the first place. Thumping his fist into the pillow, he silently cursed his traitor of a body, vowing to one day make it pay for the torment it was currently putting him through. 

When Jo returned with the tea and slid back into bed, she could tell that something in John had been resolved in her absence. Jo snuggled under the duvet, waiting for her tea to cool down a little, but John immediately took a swig of his, the hot liquid bringing him to full alertness. When he lay back down, putting his arms around her soft, voluptuous body, he knew that the time had come to bury his pride, and trust in her usual level of tact and diplomacy. "I feel quite ashamed," He began, hesitating over the right word to describe his feelings. "Which is why I didn't want to tell you. You'll probably think I'm being incredibly stupid, but I don't. It's funny, but George said I should tell you, and I virtually bit her head off for suggesting it. Last Saturday, when I was with her, I, erm, I couldn't rise to the occasion." As John went as still as a rock, Jo suddenly understood everything. He felt a failure because he had been unable to make love to George, and he was terrified of not being able to do the same with her. A wave of sympathy rose up in her, and she reflexively tightened her arms round him. "Oh, John," She said, gently kissing him. "It's not anything to be ashamed of." "I don't want pity, Jo," He said stonily. "Sympathy, John, not pity, they are two very different things," She told him quietly. "I felt so humiliated," He said, almost relieved to have it out in the open. "And all George could do was be nice to me." "John, it happens," Jo told him firmly. "It doesn't mean that you won't get it back, and it certainly doesn't mean that you're a failure." "George said that I should just try and forget it, and not feel under any pressure to make love to anyone." "And she was absolutely right," Jo said, feeling a touch of pride that George had handled this so sensitively. "I badly didn't want that to happen with you," He admitted sheepishly. "John, do you seriously think it hasn't ever happened with other men I've slept with?" "That's different," He said dismissively, making Jo laugh softly. "No, it's not," She told him fondly. "It happens to everyone at some point or so I'm told. But George is right, the more you worry about it, the more it is likely to become a problem." "I'm sorry," He said, softly kissing her, wanting to make up for his inadequacies. "You've got nothing to be sorry for," She told him firmly. "Nothing whatsoever." As she said this, his thoughts strayed to Karen, and the precise reason why he was in this predicament in the first place. He did have something to be sorry for, but Jo didn't know it, and if he had anything to do with it, she never would know about that. She would neither understand, nor sympathise with him, not that her sympathy for what he had done was something he wanted in any case. 

After quite a long time of some simple cuddling, Jo said, "You know, it's funny, but quite often when I'm with George, I feel as though I don't know a thing about her. It's as though she's hiding an awful lot of herself from me." "You mean when you're in bed with her?" John queried, glad to be onto a different topic of conversation. "Yes." "She probably is," He replied, wondering if George knew that she came across like this. "But why?" Jo wanted to know, George's wanting to conceal anything from her in that respect almost unthinkable. "George is a little," John searched for the right word, "different, when it comes to bed. She always has been, and I suspect she always will be. There are some things she's into, that I can safely say she wouldn't want you to know about." "Why, does she think she'll frighten me off?" Jo asked with a sardonic smile. "Probably," John said entirely seriously. "The thing you need to understand about George," He continued, slightly adjusting his position to get more comfortable. "Is that nothing turns her on more, than to feel that she is being bad. She sometimes needs to feel as though she is being punished. I think it stems from always feeling the need to behave when she was a child. After her mother died, I think part of her probably realised that her father didn't know how to handle her, which is why he sent her off to boarding school. So, whenever she was at home, she was forced to persistently behave, either because it was what her father expected of her, or because she simply wanted to please him. The older she got, the more she realised she could act on her own feelings, rather than on what those around her expected of her. I've a feeling that smoking dope at university was a part of that. She was even more on heat than usual if she was slightly stoned." Jo laughed. "So, anything sexual that would make her feel in any way that she was doing something forbidden, she found incredible. That's why she likes being tied up, because it gives her the feeling if not the reality, of being forced to submit, not something your average person is supposed to enjoy. I suspect she would love to be spanked, but she knows I wouldn't do it for her, which is probably why she's never asked. I remember once, she wanted me to pick her up from King's Cross, just like any other prostitute, though she was a little drunk at the time, so we didn't ever get around to it, thank God. I can't tell you all of it, because I'm not about to break a confidence that I know she would definitely want to be kept." "It can't be that bad," Jo encouraged with a broad smile, thinking that her eyes were certainly being opened this morning. "It's not, in the grand scheme of things, but I know she would be highly embarrassed if I told you, and that's not something I'm about to do to her." Jo was forced to admire his unerring loyalty to George, and to the secrets of their marriage, which still could not be undone. 

After John had left later that morning, saying that he had some work to do before going to see Charlie, Jo caught up on all the housework and a pile of ironing, jobs that she had been putting off all week. This seemingly endless succession of mind numbing tasks, gave her time to think, time to dwell on everything that had been said in the early morning. She had felt an enormous amount of sympathy for John, as she more than anyone, except perhaps George, knew just how much the ability to make love really meant to him. It was the one thing he could always cling to, the one act he could always rely on himself to perform. Well, at least until now. As for all the things John had told her about George, Jo couldn't help but smirk. She didn't think that being tied up was something she would ever come to enjoy, but each to their own. She also couldn't help continually wondering what on earth it was that John wouldn't tell her. She thought with a soft little smile, that one day she might be able to persuade George to tell her what this forbidden fantasy was. 

When Jo arrived to see George late on the Saturday evening, she had to admit to being in a state of heightened arousal. She knew that it was a combination of having thought about George's slightly unusual sexual tastes all afternoon, and not having been satisfied by John. As George opened the door, she could see that every one of Jo's senses was on red alert, ready to act on George's merest suggestion. "You look positively alight with lust, darling," George said in greeting, as Jo's arms went round her. "Very much so," Jo admitted sheepishly. "And it's all your fault." "That's nice to know," George said as they moved into the lounge. "But before you become entirely fixated on my body, there's something I want to show you." "I should imagine I can manage to restrain myself," Jo answered with a wry smile. Going into her office across the hall, George returned with the letter from Kay, that had been faxed to her a couple of hours before. As Jo read it, she smiled. "That's nice," She said, handing it back to George. "It made a difference from any average report," George agreed. "So, where's our Lord and master this evening?" "Helping Charlie with an essay," Jo replied, George's fondly satirical name for him making her smile. "She never asks me for help with an essay," George grumbled, and then felt stupid. "I always had to force Mark to do his homework under extreme duress," Jo told her, trying to change the subject slightly. "Charlie's always been her daddy's perfect little angel in that respect," George said almost bitterly, and then forced herself to lighten up and forget about all her insecurities over Charlie. "So," She said, sitting down next to Jo and putting her arms round her. "Why so aroused, frustrated and distinctly on heat this evening?" She asked, punctuating each word with a kiss, and making Jo blush. "I'm not quite that bad," Jo told her with a laugh. "Darling, have you looked at your nipples lately?" George asked with a smirk, delicately running a finger over an already erect peak. "I'm sorry," Jo said, feeling a little silly for the intensity of her feelings. "Jo," George told her sternly. "Don't ever apologise for feeling sexy. Believe me, it's almost unbearably flattering. Do I perceive your state of highly unfulfilled frustration, to be as a result of John's temporary abstinence?" "Partly," Jo admitted. "And this morning, I even managed to persuade him to tell me what that was all about." "Good," George said with a warm smile. "I told him he should tell you, when he came to see me yesterday. He didn't know how to tell you that he didn't want to sleep with you." "Yes, it did take him a while to say it. George, he's still very wound up about it." "I know, but as I told him last weekend, the more he thinks about it, the less it's likely to sort itself out. Jo, he was mortified, he made me promise not to tell you." "Well, let's face it, he'd probably just received one of the biggest shocks of his life." "That therefore means, that you will have to content yourself with me for the time being," George stated lasciviously, the gleam in her eye promising Jo that she wasn't going to be disappointed by this turn of events. 

They moved by mutual consent from sofa to bedroom, Jo badly needing what George could give her, and George being more than happy to oblige. "I never would have thought we'd end up doing this," Jo said, as they lay in George's spacious bed, their hands and mouths deliciously wandering. "Two years ago, I mean." "No," George laughed huskily. "But then I've always thought that particularly sustained fighting was definitely a precursor to foreplay." "In that case," Jo said with a smirk. "You should be destined to sleep with half the members of the Bar council." "Most of them wouldn't know a sex life if it crept up on them and took them forcefully in public," George said dismissively. "You used to think that about me," Jo reminded her fondly. "No, I didn't," George insisted. "You'd managed to make John fall hook, line and sinker, and you couldn't have done that with just your intellect alone." "I think there was a backhanded compliment in there somewhere," Jo said with a laugh, as George's kisses moved steadily downwards. "You're bloody right there was," George assured her, her mouth now contentedly full of soft, warm flesh. "Are you trying to make up for all those years of anorexia," Jo asked unsteadily. "By attempting to consume me whole?" "Something like that," George replied, briefly detaching her lips before returning to the highly delicious occupation of gently tugging at Jo's hardened nipples, soothing the sensitive skin with her tongue. "How on earth do you manage to do that with a complete absence of teeth?" Jo asked, still not quite having mastered this particular art. "Practice, darling, that's all," George promised her. "Ask John, I learnt on him." "You really enjoy doing that for him, don't you," Jo said almost in wonder, giving oral to a man never having been one of her particular favourites. George briefly stopped what she was doing and sat up slightly to look at Jo. "Enjoy is really the wrong word," She said, clearly having had to think about this. "It's not something I do all that often, at least I certainly don't take him all the way like that very often, and he always gets it on my terms not his. I like doing it for him occasionally because he likes it, and because I know I'm good at it, but I'm not sure that I'd recommend it to anyone else. Those who can stand the taste of the end result are very few and far between, and I am highly fortunate that I happen to be one of them, but just because I occasionally do that, doesn't mean I actually like it. Women on the other hand, and especially you, taste infinitely better." With this thought lingering between them, she returned to her task of stimulating Jo's nipples until they could easily have pierced any bulletproof vest. But once these delicate peaks had been mercilessly teased, George began kissing her way down Jo's ribs, nibbling at every inch of skin on the way down. Jo's musky scent was different from Karen's, though at the same time similar, acting on George like the proverbial aphrodisiac. Before sleeping with Karen, George couldn't quite get her head round the thought of doing this for another woman, yet now here she was on her second, delighting in Jo's taste far more than many men might have done. Neil Haughton had always refused to do this for George, on the odd occasion when she'd asked him, insisting that he didn't like it, and that it wasn't something normal people did. She had refrained on those occasions from telling him that John had never been able to get enough of doing that for her, but she had always wondered why he wouldn't at least try it. Now she had tried it on two women, she didn't know what all the fuss was about. Doing something so sensual, so deliciously erotic was incredible, and not just for the person receiving it. Nothing currently delighted her more than to follow Jo's every reaction, to interpret precisely what she wanted. George could tell just how sexually wound up Jo had quite obviously been for hours, from the slightly hushed unintelligible verbal encouragement that was coming from her, spurring George onto further endeavour. Seeming to realise that she just might scream if she wasn't careful, Jo bit down on her right hand as her orgasm approached, every muscle screwing itself up at the rush of feeling. 

When Jo returned to full alertness, George was lying beside her softly smiling. Her entire body tingled in the aftershock, her hand trembling slightly as she raised it to push some hair out of her face. Reaching out an arm, she gently pulled George against her, their mouths meeting in a gloriously sensual kiss that took the breath out of both of them. "You see," George told her when their lips parted. "That's how utterly divine you taste." "You're as bad as John," Jo told her with a laugh. Then turning serious, she said, "I do want to try it, and I don't, if that makes any sense." "And there's no one here saying you have to try it," George assured her gently. "Darling, just because I enjoy it enormously doesn't mean you will. I suspect that your curiosity will take over one of these days, but I won't be complaining if it doesn't. However, what I would like you to do for me," She said, giving Jo another lingering kiss. "Is to tell me precisely what had you so fired up today, because I know it wasn't just a lack of attention from our wayward judge." "Again, it's your fault," Jo told her with a smirk. "Things far too often are my fault," George replied with a mock frown. "We ended up talking about you, and John filled me in on some of your slightly more eccentric tastes. I don't think I've learnt quite so much about one person on a Saturday morning for a long time." "It sounds as though our lord and master, needs a little lesson of his own," George said a little bitterly. "On how to interpret that little word discretion. Just how much did he tell you? Though I suppose he couldn't have told you everything as you're still here." "Don't be so defensive," Jo gently admonished her. "John didn't tell me anything you need to be ashamed of. Yes, I don't understand why you do enjoy some of it, but that doesn't put me off, I promise you, and no, John didn't tell me everything. He said that there was something that he definitely wouldn't tell me, because he knew that you wouldn't want me to know." As she said this, she felt George's body go rigidly still, with a crimson blush rising furiously to her cheeks. Then, as if needing to hide, George tore herself out of Jo's embrace and turned away from her, pulling the discarded duvet over her, lying with her back to Jo and with her shoulders as stiff as a rock. George just couldn't believe it, how could he? How could he have almost told Jo about that? She didn't care that he had actually kept her confidence, because he had succeeded in rousing Jo's curiosity, something George would far rather had been left untapped in such a matter. She knew that she liked some pretty out of the way things when it came to bed, but that didn't make her a bad person, or did it? She could vividly remember how long it had taken her to tell John about that particular fantasy, and she had only got round to it after a few glasses of red wine. But just because he hadn't castigated her curiosity, didn't mean she wanted Jo to know about it. 

When Jo tentatively put an arm round her from behind, delicately entwining their fingers, George tried to ignore Jo's compassion. "Don't sulk," Jo told her quietly. "I'm not sulking," George replied stonily. "I'm hiding, rather unsuccessfully it would appear." Jo laughed softly. "George, you might be hiding, but your thoughts are even louder than they usually are, so try talking to me instead." "Jo," George said slowly, not entirely sure how to put this into words. "Just because I sometimes need to feel bad, doesn't mean I want to feel wrong. I know that some of the things I like are a bit peculiar to say the least, but I don't think that makes me a bad person." "Of course it doesn't," Jo assured her, feeling the weight of all George's insecurity about this. "George, I don't care what you may have liked or may have tried, because it doesn't alter who you are to me. If you ever want to tell me about it, that's fine, and if you don't, then it's not a problem." Turning over to face her, George put her arms round this woman whom she certainly hadn't expected to ever have in her bed, feeling a lifetime's worth of reassurance coming from her. Jo kissed her, wanting to make her feel better, wanting to take away any lingering vestiges of uncertainty. But as George felt her breast being softly stroked, she laid a hand over Jo's wandering one and said, "Sorry, but no," Her earlier lust having entirely dissipated. Jo simply held her close, occasionally kissing her, and trying to soften the sharpened edges of defensive armour that had risen between them. She perhaps shouldn't have broached the subject at all, but it was done now, and all she could do was to help George to relax, something that only time and sleep could achieve. 


	24. Chapter 24

Part Twenty-Four

"What the devil do we do about the Mills trial?" Sir Ian testily demanded of his subordinate Lawrence James in one of their regular conferences in his private office. A profusely worded memo had appeared on his desk listing various options but in all its wordiness, had frustratingly failed to come off the fence and left it to him to finally decide on how to prosecute the trial. For once, he was given an open field on a matter to decide when he felt utterly unable to come to a decision.  
"This could be embarrassing for the Department," Lawrence James observed pronouncing that curious abbreviation for the LCD with an audible capital letter.  
"The woman must be dealt with in the same way as any other person who is facing trial," Came his curt reply.  
"We must not be seen to be taking sides"  
"Correction, Lawrence. We must not be taking sides. It is incumbent on the brethren to distance themselves as far as possible from the accused in the prosecution of the trial"  
"That is all very well, Sir Ian, but you are forgetting that she once played in the orchestra where virtually all the brethren were present"  
Sir Ian promptly broke the pencil that he had been fiddling with.  
"There is one person above all else to whom the trial should never be entrusted and that is Deed. He cannot be considered a 'safe pair of hands"  
If Lawrence James's dark complexion could have paled, it would have done at the nightmare vision that came to his mind of the damage that man could do.  
"Where is the prisoner held right now"  
"Larkhall. Where else? That can of worms," Sir Ian spat back in exasperation. "Could she not be moved to a prison remote from Deed's area of work? If we cannot separate Deed from the opportunity of trying the Mills case, the Home Office could separate her from the chances of the case falling into his hands"  
"An excellent suggestion," Sir Ian beamed. "Can you follow up the matter as a matter of extreme urgency"  
The two men sipped tea out of expensive bone china crockery as they casually decided on the fate of a single individual with that confidence of those who felt that they were born to rule. The accused was a woman who had only briefly entered their circle of acquaintance but was not really a full time member of their croneys. It had escaped their minds that James Brooklands, a wealth creator, had been afforded protection by the establishment whereas Mrs Mills was a mere vicar's wife and was therefore expendable.

"Oh no, they can't do this," Grayling swore to himself with suppressed outrage as a memo appeared on his desk from Alison Warner suggesting that 'to secure transparency in justice and avoid public embarrassment, Mrs. Mills should be transferred to a rural prison away from the rough and tumble of the London prisons in keeping with her age. I would suggest that Style prison in Cheshire would be admirably suited to her needs'  
At one time he had behaved in a devious and unprincipled fashion and this experience enabled him to see into their minds and be especially acute to the machinations of his political opponents.

Grayling smiled as these last two words popped into his mind. The Home Office was part of the civil service and, as such, should act as the impartial administration of the government's affairs. In reality, he knew that such a viewpoint was hopelessly naïve. He sensed a pervading authoritarian, intolerant spirit which saw prisoners rights and civil liberties groups as an infection in society to be extirpated by all means, fair or foul. There was certainly good mileage to be had out of being hard on 'law and order' in terms of newspaper headlines. He smiled to himself that the establishment had made a major mistake in admitting him to their ranks and probably viewed him as a Trojan horse, engineered by the forces of subversion. That thought cheered him considerably.

He would not think of informing Karen of this proposal. This was something, which he felt instinctively, he should shield her from. His salary from the Home Office enabled him to live a luxurious lifestyle with his partner, Marcus, and it was this sort of situation that prompted him to feel that he should earn every penny of it by taking the knocks. The trouble was, when his anger had cooled down, that there was a lot of merit in what was suggested. Objectively speaking, a trial conducted by complete strangers would ensure proper justice. He was accustomed to producing policy recommendations setting out the pros and cons of a case and if he considered the matter of Barbara's transfer to another prison, he would find himself hard put to it to find arguments to outweigh the move. His incisive mind and wealth of experience in the prison system made him useful to his masters, too useful to be dispensed with. That was the sole reason, he reflected ruefully, why he had maintained his position, apart from his natural cunning obstinacy in clinging to it like a limpet to a rock.

He moved away from his computer and paced round his office in thought and sipped from a tumbler of ice cold mineral water before time for reflection crystallized the ideas more sharply. The problem was what he didn't know. The whole matter spanned the entire arch in justice between the home office and the court of law, he finally concluded. He simply did not know anywhere near enough about the legal side of the matter. The idea both sprang into existence and hardened into a decision. He had to discreetly consult John, the one man with the combined knowledge and integrity in whom he could trust.

"Take a seat, Neil," John courteously offered Neil, as he looked inquisitively round John's chamber, at its impressive library and tasteful pictures. "To what do I owe your time and trouble"  
"It's a discreet matter I wanted to take your advice on, John. I trust that this conversation stays between these four walls"  
John viewed Grayling's suggestion rather dubiously. This was the way that at one time Sir Ian prefaced his suggestions to be dragged into some squalid establishment deal before constant rebuffs made him give up in despair.  
"I'm only talking this way as a matter has come into my hands which no one outside the Home Office knows about. If this got out, my head will roll. I've been asked to arrange the transfer of Barbara out from Larkhall where she is held on remand to Style Prison in Cheshire, all for the most plausible of reasons"  
"And what might they be"  
"That the entire London based judiciary have a conflict of interest in their acquaintance with Barbara and that she would be better suited to being housed in a more rural, remote prison away, as they put it, 'from the rough and tumble of the London prisons in keeping with her age' and that 'Style prison in Cheshire would be admirably suited to her needs'  
"This smacks of a put up job," John winced, an expression of distaste on his mouth. "The more purple prose the establishment go in for, the likelier is it to be a camouflage for some very shady and morally squalid scheme"  
"The whole difficulty is that the recommendation makes a very good case because a very wide section of the legal profession are at the very least slightly acquainted with Barbara. If I remember it correctly, your Bar Council suggested the performance of 'the Creation' as a 'team building exercise' and it succeeded very well, certainly where Barbara is concerned. In her unobtrusive way, she made her presence felt in the most friendly and kind hearted fashion imaginable, as did her late husband"  
"So where is the hidden agenda"  
"Certain individuals in the Home Office," began Grayling in his stilted fashion, "Sorry, I mean my boss for a start, view Barbara as simply a potential embarrassment to be quietly disposed of as quickly as possible"  
John sat up straight in his chair. He was favourably impressed by the bluntness with which Grayling described the situation. It chimed in with his own viewpoint.  
"…….which is the main reason I came to you. I needed some input on the legal front and also your advice in coming up with an alternative proposal"  
John paused awhile in thought. Grayling had certainly set out a very tricky conundrum. However, it ought not be beyond the wit of both of them to come up with a solution.  
"From my direct knowledge, Barbara could not be better served than Larkhall prison where she is assured of sympathetic care by those who know her personally, both inmates and prison officers alike," Spoke up John, a slight edge of emotion in his tones. That image of Karen recklessly risking her life to save a very out of control Denny on a high up rooftop still struck him with admiration and haunted his memories.  
"True, but this cuts both ways, especially in relation to Nikki. I just have the gut feeling that my political enemies would love to embroil her in particular in public controversy. I must explain," as John opened his mouth to protest, "that Nikki's record since she became Wing Governor has been exemplary ……like Karen's has"  
"You are very fond of them"  
Grayling's smile spread over his face, openly showing his intense disinterested pride in them and not as an advertisement for his judgment.  
"It is not very often for a gay man to be bound by ties to a growing band of attractive, very determined and resourceful and above all, very loyal women. It wasn't the situation I expected to find myself in as I was growing up." John smiled at the irony of Grayling's words and its resonance for himself. "There's another matter. If they are ever attacked, it leaves me vulnerable as well and the finish of my career"  
"Meaning?" John bristled.  
"I used to want to get to the top of the ladder out of sheer ego, to feel good about myself and there wasn't anything I wouldn't do or say to debase myself to achieve that goal. Now I see it as a chance to do some good in this world and for those who I feel loyalties towards, wherever they are. My position in the Home Office is as far as I will get and I am content. It is a means, not an end."

"So why would you be threatened?" John's silence on the last matter signified assent as he pursued this matter of abstract philosophy and also to further get the measure of this inscrutable man. "Guilt by association," Grayling said shortly.  
"That's contrary to every tenet of English justice." Ancient teachings in John's memory banks talked replied automatically with his voice.  
"That's what happens these days. You should know better, John."

The words visibly shook John. He had never heard the increasing power of patronage, of the gradual encroachment of tyranny expressed so cynically or so succinctly before. He had fumed impotently at the gradually emerging pattern of trials where, on the face of it, the accused man was found guilty against all the odds and, on the contrary, where creatures of the establishment wriggled free from their just deserts. The words went against his deepest beliefs but his desire for the truth could not fudge the issue.

Grayling studied John closely and allowed a decent pause to elapse. He sensed that john was a troubled man and half way regretted his presence. He had come here to seek help and not to disturb him.  
"I feel that we ought to attack this problem from the other end. Supposing that Barbara were to remain at Larkhall, what are the prospects of you becoming the trial judge and how would you feel about it"  
John looked visibly more uncomfortable than ever. He was unusually sensitive to questions about his feelings as opposed to niceties of legal judgment. He felt highly uncomfortable at the prospect of looking down from his throne at Barbara standing before him in the dock and questioned his ability to be as dispassionate as long training dictated to him that he must be.  
"The first question is easily answered. The Lord Chancellor's Department would fight, tooth and nail, to ensure that the trial ended up out of my hands. They would prefer that some spineless creature would be there to do their bidding…..As for your second question, I admit to feeling an element of discomfort in trying someone who I am on friendly terms with. It would be a real test of justice"  
"If we try some 'blue sky thinking' and imagine what the ideal outcome should be," Grayling's soft voice urged persuasively with a touch of that 'management speak' that was his inevitable trademark. "Can you possibly think of an alternative judge who could treat her in an absolutely non discriminatory fashion." Grayling posed the question.  
"True." Reflected John." If I had the choice, I would not care to entrust the responsibility to anyone but myself. I am not speaking out of vanity"  
John felt really conflicted by the desire not to let such a case slip out of his hands and scared by the possibility if it were given to him. He had tried former inmates of Larkhall before, Miss Pilkinton, Yvonne's son and daughter but he had become gradually closer to that indomitable female support group that was Larkhall both sides of the prison bars. As he got emotionally closer, he got scared, the perpetual problem of his life.  
Grayling meant very well, John noted, he really believed in what he was doing and the man was so infernally persuasive. "So can you think what the answer might be? We really need as much lateral thinking as wide as possible." "I am not sure that I could shoulder the responsibility, that's the rub"  
"Is there any way that you could share the responsibility?"

To Grayling's intense relief, the light was turned on inside John's mind, smoothing out the lines of distress on his face. He had gradually become aware that that he was putting a lot of emotional pressure on John and he felt guilty. His strength of feeling on the matter had uncharacteristically obscured this from him.  
"I hadn't thought of that. That might work"  
"I don't quite understand, John"  
"A winger……In certain trials, it is possible for a second judge to sit on the trial. You might have noticed from sitting in on previous trials that there is space for as many as three judges in court. It is a system that the Court of Appeal employ for the very reason that three heads are better than one in highly sensitive cases that cases going to the court of appeal invariably are. In this case, it would be perfectly possible for me to conduct the trial and a second judge to be there to assist in the conduct of a trial, to advise and, most important, to be something of an equal partner in deliberations out of court and the structure of the conduct of the trial….yes, this opens up possibilities." John's mind was racing at top speed as he rapidly explained matters to Grayling's very attentive ear.  
"What you need is political insurance, someone who even your opponents couldn't object to but who you would be able to work with. It would have the advantage over any single judge wherever they presided and would show that you are treating the matter with the utmost seriousness"  
Grayling's smooth words rolled off his tongue like honey and John could not but admire his astuteness. "Monty. Monty Everard. He's the man we want. He has that unmistakeable air of the typical God fearing fox hunting man whose reputation is totally impeccable in the eyes of the establishment"  
"And yours isn't?" questioned Grayling with a smirk.  
"If you have a reputation as a maverick, you have a positive duty to live up to it," John answered in his best insouciant fashion which made Grayling grin in appreciation.  
"Do you think that he would agree to the idea if you put all the arguments to him that we've discussed and would you be able to get on with him. It is something of a real commitment for two people in a stressful situation to hold the ring"  
John looked thoughtful. There would be no natural majority / minority option that a three person bench enabled in the last resort. This trial, if it could get off the ground this way, would be like a coach and two coachmen who might pull in opposite directions in a critical moment. He would have to surrender part of his unquestionable authority and would have to rely more on persuasion and reason. This trial would place demands on him that would be new to him but, then again, this was starting to creep into his life in general.

"It's worth trying. He can be crusty and irascible though that might be the pretence of sustaining a fiction of a marriage with that utter ogre of her wife, Vera. You will recall her from her lamentable attempts at singing at the rehearsals"  
Grayling winced. He remembered. Then he said in a meditative tone of voice.  
"How do you feel the Lord Chancellor's Department will view the proposal"  
John grinned for the first time since the meeting started.  
"I feel it may be checkmate. They cannot believe that 'their man' won't be able to prevail in what they fondly imagine will be their point of view. It is too much of a temptation to resist as it is both easy and expedient"  
"They are politicians. They will go for it," Came Grayling's cynical rejoinder.  
John sat back comfortably in his chair. How on earth did he have such an unreasoning aversion to this man, he wondered?  
"How much time can you buy in procrastinating in this move to transfer Barbara to another prison before the necessity for it can be scotched"  
"I am a master at procrastination when it suits my purpose. The first thing Alison Warner learnt to her cost is not to push me about. I have a whole arsenal of techniques in buying time. You leave that to me, John"  
"I'll phone you as soon as I can convince Monty of the wisdom of this idea"  
The two men exchanged knowing looks. It looked like a devious conspiracy but in a society increasingly dominated by political fixers, the conspiracy by the 'nod and the wink' the fight for survival to pursue justice meant building up a counter network across institutions. The theory of the separation of powers, between the judiciary, executive and the legislature was all very fine in the ideal democratic society but old formulas didn't work. He had to work out new ones from instincts but at least, he wasn't on his own. Jo and George were telling him this in their different ways as well. It should be a comfort he could cling to. 


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Betaed by Jen and Hunca Munca. 

Part Twenty-Five

As Tom and Zubin drove towards George's office, Tom was forced to admit to a growing sense of curiosity. Zubin had filled him in on the facts of the case as far as possible, and now Tom was eager to get involved. He still wasn't entirely convinced of Barbara Mills' innocence, but he supposed that neither were her lawyers at this stage. He had also met Kay Scarpetta at the end of last week, just before her return to Virginia, and couldn't help but think that involvement with this case might just provide him with some delightfully exciting female company, should he decide to play his cards right. When they drew up in the car park, Tom's comment of, "Very nice," seemed to sum up the situation perfectly. George's office was in the fashionable area of Knightsbridge, right in the very heart of high class shopping territory. "This beats working for the NHS any day," Tom observed dryly. "I don't suspect that Mrs. Channing has ever done any work for the state in her life," Zubin suggested as they walked inside. 

After the introductions had been made, and coffee had been served, Tom broke the silence with, "You know, Zubin was absolutely right about you two." Then, after taking a sip of his coffee, he elaborated. "When he filled me in as to some of the facts, he told me that there were two of you, and that you could probably win this case on female beauty alone." George laughed, Jo smiled, and Zubin looked highly embarrassed. "Well, I'm sure we both appreciate the compliment," George told him kindly. "Though I would like to think that we could win this case on an awful lot more. Now, Mr. Campbell-Gore, could you fill us in as to your exact position at St. Mary's?" "For a start, call me Tom," He said with a smile. "Mr. Campbell-Gore becomes a bit of a mouthful after a while. It's funny, but I think my own name was the one thing I could never quite say when I was drunk." "Tom then," George corrected herself. "We need to have some idea as to your professional status in relation to Connie Beauchamp, as it appears she will be the prosecution's main witness." "Then feel free to relax," Tom assured them. "Both myself and Connie Beauchamp are cardio thoracic surgeons, though she has the unenviable task of Medical Director, a position I also had at one time. However, being at least ten years older than Mrs. Beauchamp, I've been in the cardio thoracic ball game a lot longer than she has." "Is there any possibility," Jo asked. "That she could have wrongly diagnosed Henry Mills as being inoperable?" "Anything's possible," Tom mused in reply. "But I doubt it. Connie Beauchamp might stamp on everything that gets in her path, but she's good at her job." "Something Connie doesn't do," Zubin further clarified. "Is to take a risk with someone's life if she can possibly help it. If she hadn't been absolutely certain with something like lung cancer, she would definitely have asked for a second opinion, even if it would have shattered her pride to do so." "Other than the state pathologist," Jo put in. "We don't know who the other prosecution witnesses are yet, if any have been found. What we also don't know, and which from your point of view is far more important, is who will be prosecuting this case. Until we know that, we can't possibly predict just how rough a ride you might have." "Yes, we do know," Tom told her. "Does the name Brian Cantwell ring any bells?" "Oh, marvellous," George said disgustedly. "I might have known he'd jump at this case," Jo agreed gloomily. "How did you know?" George asked. "Connie got a phone call from him when we were in theatre on Friday morning," Zubin filled in. "Arranging a time to meet with her, presumably for the same reason that you two are now meeting with us." "Well now, that is a nice little bonus," George said unexpectedly, the slight gleam of deviousness in her eyes. "To have what amounts to two spies in the camp of the main prosecution witness, couldn't be better." "Is that how you work all your cases?" Zubin asked a little pompously. "Where necessary, yes," George told him without a flicker. "Surely you would use every method at your disposal to achieve the desired results?" "However, what you must remember," Jo told them firmly, clearly acting the stern parent in this case. "Is that both of you are far more likely to unwittingly give away information to the opposition than Mrs. Beauchamp is, for the simple fact that there are two of you, and only one of her, so please be careful." 

"One possibility that I don't think either of you have considered," Tom said slowly, thinking that George was certainly going to be a lot of fun to work with. "Is the very outside chance that Henry Mills could have died from natural causes." "But how?" Jo asked incredulously. "The state pathologist's report and Kay Scarpetta's initial report say that he died from a morphine overdose." "I'm only floating it as a suggestion," Tom explained. "Because with a condition as chronically invasive as lung cancer, there is always the possibility of all the vital organs simply going into shock, mainly from a lack of oxygenated blood. The more lung cancer spreads, the less oxygen can get into the body, and the less oxygenated blood can reach organs such as the heart, liver and kidneys." "So, we now have four possible outcomes, not two," Jo clarified. "Murder, suicide, accidental overdose, or death by natural causes." "I'm guessing that's what Connie will be there for," Put in Tom. "To thoroughly discount the possibility of death by natural causes. She's determined to stick to the idea that Henry Mills was murdered, or at least she was in theatre last Friday." "Professor Khan," George said sternly. "Just what did we tell you about not using this case to settle any scores?" "Tell me, have you ever worked with Connie?" Zubin asked, not willing to go down without a fight in front of Tom. "That is hardly the point," George argued back. "Mrs. Beauchamp would argue with Dr. Crippen's defence lawyer if she thought she could get away with it," Zubin insisted, making Jo laugh. "Well, I'll be in good company then, won't I," George told him with the lust for battle clear for all to see. "But you must try not to give Mrs. Beauchamp, which in this case means the opposition, any fodder for mud slinging against defence witnesses." "I shall attempt to curb my tongue," Zubin promised her glibly. "Holier than thou intensions are all well and good, Zubin, but we all know that the road to hell was paved with them." 

"Just how plausible," Jo broke in, wanting to change the subject fast. "Is the possibility that the overdose was accidental?" "Given that Henry's body was almost certainly going into medical stasis, which is where all the vital organs and processes begin to shut down, it is something that does need to be considered. Morphine metabolites can build up in the liver when this happens, meaning that the body doesn't process it at the expected speed. This therefore means that the tolerance level will gradually get lower, as more and more of the metabolites are stored in the liver. Hopefully the tests that Kay will run should give us more informed answers than we have at the moment." 

A good while later, when Tom and Zubin had left, George reached over and briefly touched Jo's hand. "Well, I might not have met the dishonourable Mrs. Beauchamp, but I think I can safely say that we have the best of the witnesses." "We haven't found out what their particular hidden skeletons are yet," Jo said ruefully. "And Kay's were quite bad enough to be going on with." "I just hope they can keep their mouths shut," George replied, thinking this something of a tall order. "I like Tom," Jo said meditatively. "There's something really down to earth about him." "Whereas Professor Khan does get very hot under the collar," George added with a smile. "He's going to have to really toughen up his act before we get him in the witness box, or Brian Cantwell will have him flustered and floundering in the first five minutes." "Brian's done this because it's his turn to win a case against me," Jo said with utter certainty. "We slid into the score keeping thing a few years ago. We've been pretty even until now, but he probably sees this as a case he can win without any possible risk." "Jo, if I know anything about Brian Cantwell," George assured her. "It will be far more likely that he's found out who Barbara's team consists of, and can't quite forego the challenge of taking on the two of us in one fell swoop." 

As Zubin parked the car, Tom walked back up to Darwin Ward, inwardly planning the operation he had to perform that afternoon. "Mr. Campbell-Gore," Connie said as she accosted him. "Nice to have you with us. Go anywhere nice?" "Nowhere you need to worry about," Tom told her blithely, remembering George's warning. "And I did ensure adequate cover before I left." "So I see," Connie said almost disappointedly, as though she badly wanted something to pin on him. "So, have a nice meeting with Barbara Mills' barristers, did you?" "A nicer one than I suspect you had last Friday with, now what was his name? Oh, Brian Cantwell, if I remember rightly." "At least I'm batting for the worthy cause of justice," Connie threw back disgustedly. "Is that right," Tom said carefully, trying to rein in his anger and not really succeeding. "I know she killed him," Connie said furiously, her voice taking on that quiet, venomous calm they all knew so well. "And I know she didn't," Tom replied firmly, his determination to beat her overriding his sense of danger. "Well, let the best man win," Connie told him almost sweetly. "At least I have righteous certainty, and a barrister who isn't afraid of tearing witnesses to shreds." "Connie, all you've got in your favour, is a pair of good legs," Tom told her smoothly. "Though I suppose they could come in handy, should you choose to fight this case by seducing the judge." Turning on his heel, he walked smartly away from her, thinking that keeping his opinions to himself was going to be nothing less than an uphill struggle. 


	26. Chapter 26

Part Twenty-Six

John had recovered his native sense of resolution in immediately seeking out Monty in his chambers. His sense of urgency was propelled by his desire to ensure Monty's cooperation at the earliest possible time for his own peace of mind. He dared not think of failure.

He knocked politely on Monty's door and saw that Monty was busy studying a set of trial papers.  
"Ah, John, what brings you to see me"  
"I have something of a delicate matter on which I wish to seek your advice on an idea I had but perhaps I am calling at an inconvenient time"  
"Take a seat, John. I've about finished anyway and you have roused my curiosity. Cup of tea"  
John realized that he had struck the right note. While he had a pretty clear idea as to the way forward, in truth, the novel possibility of him working in tandem with Monty needed Monty's input as well. He would have to learn restraint and diplomacy, qualities which did not immediately come to mind to his circle of acquaintances.  
"You are aware, no doubt, of the impending trial of Barbara Mills who was once a member of our orchestra"  
"Dashed perplexing the whole case is, John." Monty confided." Even a fairly casual observer like me could tell that she and the vicar were a very happily married close couple who were destined to live out their days together. I just don't understand what happened"  
"The whole matter was a considerable shock to me, Monty."

There was a pause in the conversation while Monty contemplated the case. Monty prided himself in knowing a criminal when he saw one but Barbara? He freely confessed that he could not in his wildest imaginings, imagine that this mild mannered woman was a cold-hearted killer, least of all in respect of the very kindly vicar. Both of them had spirit, character. Vera had irritated him even more than usual wittering on about 'it's the quiet ones you have to watch' and that 'she knew there was something wrong, the moment she first saw her' but that sounded more of a case of sour grapes of being ousted from the orchestra. If Neil Houghton had been found dead of alcoholic poisoning, he had no doubt that Vera would have trumpeted George's obvious guilt to all and sundry and would have had an even more transparent motive. He was less on speaking terms with Vera than normal and that was not saying much. He stared generally at the far distance of his chambers and gradually turned his head and looked sharply at John. Because, not despite of his impassive expression, he could see at a jump where the casual drift of conversation was heading.  
"If I know you, John, you are considering making a foolish, wrong headed plot to wrest the case for yourself so that, with your inflated perception of justice, you could set her free," Monty rumbled, fixing John with a stern stare.  
"You are partly mistaken on the matter. Let me explain"  
"Please do."

John paused a second while he marshaled his thoughts into cold logical order. This multiple facility in thinking, almost a split personality, was an essential tool of his trade without which he could not function.  
"The extreme difficulty of the case is that all the brethren are acquainted not only with the deceased but the accused as well. This is a situation which I confess is new to my experience"  
"Me too"  
"I freely confess that if the case were offered to me to try, I would have severe misgivings in taking the case on. I would be hard put to it to trust myself to retain an objective, detached, and rational approach and, what is worse, that I would not be unconsciously affected by such feelings. My approach is significantly different from the brethren as I am more inclined to get passionate, rightly or wrongly, about seeking out the truth and administering justice. Whether I go about it in the wrong way is a matter for even handed debate. What I can do is to put my hand on my heart that such feelings are, in a way, abstract. It is a very different kettle of fish in dealing with someone who I know personally outside my profession. Such natural feelings of friendship are apt to collide with the demands of our profession, which has to be, of necessity, cold blooded. You understand my line of reasoning, Monty"  
Monty breathed in an out as he grappled with the unexpected line of reasoning that was coming at him. He had always known that the fellow was very persuasive, silver tongued but he had to admit that he had set out the problem very clearly. But from what direction was John's next cleverly pitched googly going to spin in on him?  
"Perfectly, John"  
"You would concede that what is true for me will be true for every judge in the land. Despite my somewhat maverick approach, we all come from the same professional grounding. Could you think of any one judge that could be entrusted to try the case"  
"I must confess, there you put your finger on the problem but, dammit, a case like this should not be untriable? You are not seriously suggesting such a solution? It would be unthinkable. If our connections with both parties came out, the press would have a field day. We would be utterly exposed to public condemnation, not to mention the 'hang them and flog them' politicians and their like"  
By which, Monty includes his less than beloved wife. The man has more spirit than I had thought.  
"No such idea had crossed my mind. Regrettably but inevitably, Mrs. Mills must face open trial and all that entails." Came John's deliberately dry and formal response.  
"Then what is the solution?" Monty growled in frustration, feeling enmeshed by the negatives and impossibles that surrounded him.  
"I was going to sound you out on the possibility that not one judge try the case but two"  
"You mean"  
"Precisely"  
Monty's feelings were mixed. The idea was bold and attractive but the prospect of him and John jointly trying a case made him nervous. He had never sat with him before and felt that they would be at each other's throats in seconds. Besides, he was used to running his own trials and his boundaries would be encroached upon.  
"I do not conceal from you that there are very real risks in my proposals. It would mean that one of us would be the judge and the other a winger but it would give equal scope for deliberations behind the scenes and would require both of us to have to work in a spirit of harmony and consideration of the other. Both of us are proud, independent individuals. It goes with the job. But saying all this, I am freely offering to curtail my somewhat individualist tendencies. I have to because without some sort of give and take, such an arrangement is doomed to failure from the outset. But consider the advantages. You must have, like me, been in situations where you are uncertain how to proceed. In a situation like this, each can freely take the other person's council. Given will on both sides, two heads are better than one"  
Monty paused again for reflection. The arguments were persuasive and john was not underestimating the potential problems and was making a clear and open promise. He had to admit that he had never known John to go back on his word.  
"But why me, John"  
"Because you are my senior and because you have qualities which I sense will balance out mine"  
"And my presence would be politically acceptable to Sir Ian and the rest of the powers that be, isn't that right, John"  
John nodded. He had to concede that point. Monty was as much in the establishment's good books as he was in their bad books. That was part of his calculation.

"What is Sir Ian's and, for that matter, Lawrence James's attitude to the trial. We all played in the same orchestra, after all"  
"Quite frankly, they are embarrassed. They have buried their head in the sands hoping the problem will go away. Their latest plan is to let a judge way out in the provinces deal with the matter and pack off Barbara to the nearest prison. Rather shabby treatment, I call it"  
John was touched by Monty's sentiments. It boded well for the future.  
"Can an approach be made to Sir Ian of our alternative plan, Monty"  
"Leave it to me, John. Now I think of it, it is the ideal solution for all parties concerned"  
Monty positively enthused.  
"Just one very delicate position, who is to be judge and who is to be winger, if you don't mind me asking"  
"The procedures are clear," rumbled Monty." As your senior, I should be winger. You take the case. You really wanted the case from the first, didn't you John, despite your uncharacteristic show of indifference"  
John smiled widely at Monty's joking, fairly perceptive thrust and nodded in agreement. He could sense John's desire to get at the case in short order once his own dilemmas were resolved. It was a fair trade after all as Monty felt less than confident heading the trial and was worried about riding for a fall. It was the sure fire personal solution as John's presence was the perfect guarantee against Vera being present for the trial.

"One word of advice, John," Monty cautioned. "I can sense that you may get more personally involved in the case for your own good. It will do justice as a whole no good if you do. You must retain a certain element of detachment and play a straight bat"  
"That is what I am relying on you to help me with amongst other reasons. With the way I feel right now, about everything in general, I really don't think I could do it on my own. Thanks, Monty"  
Monty detected a slight tremor in John's voice. The fellow really means it. "Right. I'd better go over and see Sir Ian and square the matter with him. I'll phone you at your digs"  
John briefly touched Monty on the shoulder and departed. He felt as if his spirits had been lightened. His driving need was to get back to the safety and security of the digs and contemplate his future.

"How the devil did Deed get wind of our plans?  
Lawrence James shrugged his shoulders. He had a suspicion of what had happened but did not want to be the chief whipping boy. Sir Ian had a nasty tendency to pick him out as the fall guy because he was conveniently to hand. He deeply resented John because, when Sir Ian taxed him on a similar matter, he just laughed in Sir Ian's face and cheekily told him that in a culture of spying and reporting on, he shouldn't be surprised if he, in turn should be was spied on and reported on. He had remembered receiving the brunt of Sir Ian's anger after John had nonchalantly lounged his way out of the door. At all costs, therefore, it was more prudent to let Sir Ian draw the necessary conclusions himself and stomp his anger out of his system. His role in life was to shut up when he was told to and only come to life when he was called upon to agree with his political master. Back in his own office, he was free to bully and command, as he felt fit. "You would have thought that the basic instincts of loyalty to the service would have stopped some officious minor official from tittle tattling to some renegade judge. The initiative must surely have come from Deed, not Monty"  
"Does it matter in the long run? Deplorable though it is for our private deliberations to be spied upon, the outcome is not necessarily to our disfavour? It is a possible solution." Sir Ian cooled down a little while the wider implications started to sink in. The very idea was shot through with improbability.

"So, what do you make of this, Lawrence? The lion lying down with the lamb? Surely an unlikely duo, don't you think"  
"What is surprising is that Deed offered to work with Monty and Monty actually agreed with it. The idea seems on the face of it, absurd"  
"Well, it does mean that if anything goes wrong, it will be Deed having egg on his face. It sets him up to be publicly crucified for nepotism and alternatively, we have insurance via Monty of a sound judgment. It is the best solution. I just want the whole damn thing out of the way and buried in a one inch column in page 33 of the Guardian." Sir Ian snapped pettishly. He conveniently forgot that Lady Rochester's past criminal transgressions had come close to landing him in hot water but that was different. It was him, not Deed. 


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: I have shamelessly borrowed a Helen quote from series 1 episode 5, because it was just too good to resist. Betaed by Jen and Hunca Munca. 

Part Twenty-Seven

John couldn't quite believe that Tuesday evening had rolled around again so quickly. It seemed barely five minutes since he'd walked out of that clinic, yet here he was going back there again. Perhaps this was because he'd thought about virtually nothing else in the last few days, his anger and humiliation even haunting him in his sleep. As he drew up in the car park of the psychology clinic, he had half a mind to turn round and drive away, to hide forever from her probing questions and her manipulative thrust of absolute honesty. But he couldn't do it, because if he did, if he turned round and made some feeble excuse for never going back, he would feel infinitely more pathetic than she could ever make him feel during a session. The therapy had been his idea, no one else's, therefore he owed it at least to himself to continue with it. With this resolve in mind, he got out of the car and announced himself at the desk. 

When they were again sitting opposite each other in the consulting room, Helen gave him a smile. "If I'm honest," She told him carefully. "I didn't actually expect to see you here again." "And I nearly didn't come back," He told her with a slight smile of his own. "How did you feel after last week?" She asked, thinking that this would also tell her why he had been so reticent about returning. "Erm, I felt a bit disjointed," He said eventually. "As though I'd been taken apart, and not put back together in quite the right way. I've barely thought about anything else this last week, and I've alternated between being angry with you for doing this to me, and angry with myself for starting it in the first place." "Angry with me for doing what to you?" Helen asked, John's reaction being extremely common amongst her patients. "After just one hour of talking to you, I told you something that made me feel immensely vulnerable, and I didn't like that you'd found it so easy to make me do that." "Why does telling me that you need to feel loved, make you feel so vulnerable?" Helen asked him quietly, observing the flinch as she repeated his words of the week before. "Don't shrink away from it, Judge," She told him firmly. "Those were your very words, words that you said with your back to me, so that I wouldn't see how much it hurt to say them. Needing to feel loved, doesn't make you a bad person, because it's something that we all need, though not many of us are prepared to admit it. So don't be afraid of saying it. You need to accept that needing to feel loved, doesn't automatically make you a weaker, lesser human being." 

John sat in silence for a little while, fervently struggling to organise his thoughts to her assertion. "I think I see it as a weakness," He said eventually. "Because being loved can so easily lead to being hurt. I love Jo, and I love George, yet I know that I am capable of hurting both of them enormously. They are also both fairly adept at returning the favour, yet they both say they love me." "When you sleep with someone," Helen asked him calmly. "Whether it's someone you've known for years, or only for a couple of hours, what is it you're actually after? Is it real love, plus all the added complications that come with it, or is it simply the pretence of love?" "When I'm with someone I've picked up in a bar, or at a conference, for example," John replied carefully, realising too late that the listing of a conference as a pick up venue wasn't perhaps the best move he'd ever made. "I'm definitely only looking for the pretence, the feeling, because the women I go to bed with in those types of situations, are almost instantly forgettable." "Is that because of how they are in bed, or their personalities, or what?" John had to think about this for a moment. "I wouldn't pick someone up if she didn't interest me on an intellectual level," He answered. "And I certainly wouldn't pick her up if she wasn't physically attractive. As to her sexual skill or lack of it, that's obviously not something I can really estimate in advance, and to be honest, it isn't really an issue. If she is particularly good at what she does, then this is naturally a very welcome bonus, but if she isn't, it's not something I try to dwell on. I see the female body as something to be worshipped in its entirety, and giving a woman pleasure as opposed to simply taking it for myself is simply how I tend to behave with women." "Why?" Helen asked, thinking that some of the men she had known in her time could learn a lot from this man. "Because the female body was made for receiving pleasure," John told her succinctly. "But I suppose you could say that to do that for a woman, makes me feel special, wanted." "It makes you feel needed," Helen corrected him quietly. "And that's something you're terrified of not feeling, isn't it." "Yes," He agreed, not looking at her. 

"Tell me why you have two women currently on the go?" She surprised him by asking. "It was Jo's idea, believe it or not." "I'm not asking why they agreed to it," Helen replied, halting him in his tracks. "I'm asking why you agreed to it." "Because in spite of the fact that I seem to have loved Jo for years, part of me still loved, and still does love George. I could never entirely close the door on what we'd once had, even though the years that I was married to her, represent some of the worst times either of us have been through." "Tell me," Helen encouraged him gently. "When our daughter, Charlie, was born," John began a little reluctantly. "George didn't love her. It wasn't her fault, not something she could help, but she thought it made her a bad mother. George stopped eating, and by the time Charlie was six months old, and I finally discovered what George was doing to herself, she was down to five and a half stone. When I managed to persuade her to tell me why she was starving herself, I think for a time I wished I hadn't asked. I didn't understand how she couldn't love her own daughter, but at the same time I knew I shouldn't blame her for it. George was carrying around more than enough guilt of her own, without any added burden from me. I knew something was wrong, because she wouldn't let me anywhere near her. It wasn't just that she wouldn't let me make love to her, which during the first few months after the birth of a baby is pretty normal, but she wouldn't even let me hold her." "How did that make you feel?" Helen asked, seeing the cracks beginning to appear in his iron facade. "I thought she didn't love me any more," He replied half ashamedly. "Whereas it was George who thought I couldn't possibly love her, if I found out that she didn't love Charlie. For that first week, after she told me why she'd stopped eating, I really thought that she might try to kill herself, and that terrified me. I would hardly let her out of my sight, and I removed everything lethal from the house. I couldn't have borne it if I'd lost her. Not just for me, but for Charlie too. It wasn't George's fault that she couldn't love her own daughter, but even less was it Charlie's. I desperately didn't want Charlie to lose her mother in the same way I had." 

John stopped, his flood of words suddenly faltering as he realised what he'd said. It had taken Rachel Crawchek six weeks to get this far, yet inside the space of two sessions, Helen had drawn this out of him with no difficulty whatsoever. Helen just watched him, this latest little fact having somewhat shocked her. So, John's mother had committed suicide. Well, that really did explain an awful lot. But she wasn't about to go easy on him, just because he had unwittingly handed over the key to his main source of heartache. He had to explain this for himself, not have her do it for him. "How old were you?" She asked into the resulting silence. "Ten," He told her curtly, every possible barrier slamming into place like the clang of a cell door. "Do you know why she killed herself?" "She was very depressed," John told her almost clinically. "Why else would anyone want to kill themselves?" "Why do you think she was depressed?" Helen persisted, unwilling to let go of the reins at this stage. "Why is that remotely relevant?" John countered back, his instinct to argue now well established. "You're not going to rattle me, Judge," Helen promised him blithely. "Do you want a bet?" John replied before he could think better of it. "Okay, let's try this from another angle," Helen said, still appearing calm on the surface, though she was inwardly shaking her head with frustration. "Why don't you want to talk to me about your mother?" "Because she has absolutely nothing to do with why I'm here," John said stonily. "My mother having killed herself when I was a child, and my inability to stop going to bed with other women, even though I have two beautiful women to keep me happy, aren't in any way connected." "I don't agree with you," Helen replied quietly, her calm, utterly relaxed demeanour winding him up even further. "Whether you do or don't agree with me is hardly the point," John told her icily. "Because my childhood is not up for discussion." "You really don't like someone else calling the shots, do you," She said almost contemplatively, seeing the anger rising like a vapour around him. Then, when he didn't answer, she said, "You see, the more you insist that your childhood has nothing to do with the behaviour that you've exhibited for the last forty years, the more I think it does. Tell me, am I doing what your last therapist did? Did she get around to persuading you to talk about your mother, and is that why you slept with her, because you couldn't deal with it?" Her voice might have been relatively quiet, but her words still felt like taunts to him, the frighteningly accurate arrow tips of accusation that he couldn't escape from, no matter how hard he tried. 

Getting up from his chair, he strode purposefully towards the door, meaning to walk out of the room, out of the clinic, and never again go back. "Sit down," She said, still sounding calm and collected. But as he clearly intended to ignore her, she slipped unthinkingly back into the tone of voice she had once used as Governor of G wing. "Sit in that chair!" She almost shouted at him, causing him to turn round, and do exactly as she'd told him to do. He stared at her, never having suspected that she would pull rank on him, lose her cool in order to force him to do her bidding. All the anger seemed to have gone out of him with the pistol shot of her command, and now he simply sat and watched her. "I'm sorry," She said, really sounding rather sheepish. "I sometimes forget that I'm not still a Wing Governor. I once said the exact same thing to Nikki, after she'd had a fight with Shell Dockley." "Well, I hope that I'm not in danger of ever doing that," John said with a slight smile. "Tell me what you're so afraid of?" Helen prompted him gently. "You were right," He said a little heavily. "Rachel did get as far as you have, in fact she managed to take it a little further, even though it took her six weeks to do it. She made me feel incredibly vulnerable, and I am, terrified of feeling like that again." He had hesitated over the right adjective, but Helen could see that he meant every syllable. "If talking about your mother makes you cry, that really doesn't matter, you know, Judge," Helen told him kindly, observing the slight flush that rose to his cheeks. "It's a perfectly natural process," She continued. "And it's a sign that you're beginning to grieve, something I don't think you've ever done, not properly anyway." "I had to seduce Rachel, in order to regain control of the feelings she was trying to drag out of me," He explained a little hoarsely. "I know," Helen replied quietly. "And you came to me, because you knew that I wouldn't even let you consider that possibility. One thought in that direction and you're out the door," She added with a little smile. Then, tentatively she added, "Tell me about your mother." This simple encouragement, these few kind words, with neither threat nor promise attached to them, seemed to release the block on his tongue. 

"I don't know why my mother was depressed," He began slowly, not looking at Helen for fear he would see pity in her eyes. "She killed herself, by taking sleeping pills on top of a bottle of scotch. I was ten, and my sister was twelve. After it happened, my father withdrew from us, emotionally, I mean. It's funny, but when I split up with George, she did exactly the same thing, keeping all her feelings inside where they could only hurt herself, or at least that's what she thought. Charlie developed the not so charming little name of 'The Ice Maiden' for George, which is a pretty good description of how my father was to me and my sister. I remember, after my mother died, I kept returning to this place we used to go, whenever there was a thunderstorm. The perfume she always wore smelled of vanilla. I can remember that smell, every time I think of her." There were tears shining in his eyes now, but they hadn't yet begun to fall. Helen silently watched him, waiting for him to go on, but he didn't, as though mortally afraid of betraying his vulnerability in front of her. "Your mother, was the first woman who told you she loved you, and yet then left you, wasn't she," Helen said into the silence, suddenly seeing with total clarity the source of all John's insecurities. "It wasn't her fault," John tried to insist, his voice unsteady with grief. "I'm not trying to accord her any blame, Judge," Helen told him gently. "But I think it's where everything began to go wrong." "I just wish I knew why she had to do it," He said, the pain of not knowing clear in his voice. "That's what you're frightened of, isn't it," Helen clarified. "Loving someone that much again, and them leaving you like she did." "George nearly did, more than once," He surprised Helen by saying. "Not just after Charlie was born, but last April, after the row we had about her and Karen. But for Jo's timely intervention, George wouldn't be here now." Helen couldn't prevent her eyes from widening. Jesus, she'd known absolutely nothing about this at the time, which showed just how much could go on unnoticed under the surface. "The only thing that's ever stopped George from actually going through with it, is because she knows what it would do to me. But thinking that she'd lost me for good back in April, she didn't think she had any other option." "Tell me what frightened you most, about the prospect of George killing herself after Charlie was born?" "I didn't want Charlie to end up like me, wondering for the rest of her life, why her mother had left her behind." In the resulting silence, Helen wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that he was doing fantastically well, and that he was being incredibly brave to do this, but she couldn't. This man exuded so much pain, so much buried anguish, that for a moment she thought it might make her cry. But, eventually pulling herself together, she said, "Well, I think we'll leave it there for this week. You look exhausted." "You don't look much better," John told her, for the first time wondering just how much this was taking out of her too. "It's been a long day," She told him evasively. "Now, I can't fit you in for another fortnight. Will that be okay?" "I think a fortnight's break from severe mental torture won't do me any harm in the least," He said dryly, thinking that he would need at least two weeks to recover. 


	28. Chapter 28

Part Twenty-Eight

Nikki nervously adjusted the trim of her black suit and checked herself in the mirror. She brushed her short sideways fringe straight and touched up her makeup. Today was a day that she was not looking forward to, as escort to Barbara for Henry's funeral. She wanted with all her heart to go as her close friend as that was the role that she naturally played, but that wasn't going to be possible in the pure and unspoiled way that she wished. The only consolation was that Karen was going to come along with her and so many others. It was a shame that it took a funeral to bring all these scattered people together for a common purpose.

"Are you ready, Nikki?" came that well modulated voice right behind her. Nikki turned round with a jerk and Karen came into view. She was smiling slightly, trying to reassure her though Nikki suspected that this was her way of dealing with the situation, someone else's worries than hers.  
"Just got to finish looking perfect though I don't exactly know why." "That's so that we can face the day. Can't say I'm looking forward to it but we'll be in good company to keep each other going"  
Nikki was curiously heartened as Karen's direct, warm-hearted response answered her own throwaway aside and ventured to ask the question that bothered her more than anything.  
"Do I really have to put the handcuffs on Barbara? That gets to me more than anything else"  
"You know what you have to do at least as far as when we get to the church. Neil's meeting us there and so, technically, with such a number of senior officers, you could allow yourself special dispensation"  
Wearily, Nikki reached for her handcuffs. What must be, must be. At least it wasn't that bastard Fenner on prison officer duty.

Nikki felt so vividly that she was Barbara's friend when she went to her cell, spoke to her in her gentlest tones that she looked just fine and gave her all the encouragement she could possibly give as she sat on her bed like in the old days. It was the caring human being in Nikki that was uppermost in her and she could almost forget that she was wing governor. She swallowed down her own nerves to be strong for Barbara. It was what had always come naturally to her all through her life.  
"You look lovely, Babs," Julie Saunders called out.  
"Yeah, and give our love to Yvonne and all the rest of them…if you get the chance, I mean," Julie Johnson added, realizing at the end of her words that Barbara might be hard put to socialize with all their friends on the outside.  
"You look after her, man." Nikki smiled slightly at Denny's typical greeting. Bodybag scowled at a distance at Denny's total lack of formal respect.  
"I'll try," Came Nikki's quiet response as she turned round briefly to face them. A mental flashback crossed her mind of when she had walked this way to the set of barred gates when she left to face the Court of Appeal and to gain her freedom. Barbara was there to give her a big hug and now they were both of them back here. Funny world, isn't it, she mused, her thoughts dazed and confused. Only this time, she held the keys and Karen and Neil walked some distance behind her and would be with them. Sometimes the world makes no sense. 

"I have to do this, Barbara, you know," Nikki said at last at the first set of barred gates and reached for her handcuffs. At that moment, she felt like a traitor and all her well meant sympathy felt false and dishonest. She was hyper conscious of the Julies and Denny watching her every move.  
"You've got your duty to do, Nikki. I understand," Barbara smiled reassuringly.

Grayling had been cheerful the other day after John had tipped him off that the LCD had decided that there was no necessity for Barbara to be tried in a faraway court and that the Home Office would be instructed accordingly.  
"There's a change of plan about the transfer of that Mills woman out of Larkhall," Alison Warner snapped petulantly as she shoved a memo on his desk. "I suppose you've gone ahead with the move and now you've got to cancel it all"  
"By sheer chance, I had regrettably overlooked to set the wheels in motion." Grayling grinned his broadest grin. "That makes it very convenient for all concerned"  
"You're telling me that you know nothing about the way the minister has shilly shallied about? You have the knack of knowing more than is good for you," Alison Warner muttered suspiciously, fixing him with her beady stare.  
"Me? I'm only here to carry out my job? Why should I know?" Grayling replied in his most disarming tones.  
As she stomped off, Grayling reflected that he could do with regular fixes of decent, human company. Most of what emotional sustenance he got was from the Governing Governers on the other end of the phone, the most warm hearted and human of all was Karen. He was looking forward to getting out there among some decent human beings who, by definition, would be there.

As Grayling straightened his tie he was in a somber mood as he readied himself to leave his office. The reality of the funeral was hitting home. He remembered a long time back to when he first had dealings with Henry Mills who was a thoroughly decent, upright man who was untainted by the world and had been fortunate to find himself that secure corner in an increasingly valueless world. Barbara was another of the same kind. It seemed a cruel irony that Henry's life was cut short and that Barbara stood accused of his murder. It seemed grossly improbable to him. He finally disconnected himself from the electronic universe when he clicked off his computer and left his in tray with a pile of papers in it. Alison Warner's reminders could wait till when he got back. He must not be late, he vowed to himself. Getting to the church on time felt as important as getting to the highest level meeting on time. He sensed that his role was to mingle, be inconspicuous and to be generally supportive. 

As they had got out of the car Nikki had pretended that she was keeping close to Barbara and tried to ignore that hated band of metal round her wrist which bound her to Barbara. She had arrived at just the right time before a line of cars could assemble the length of the kerb outside. As Karen kept them company, she was glad to look back and see Helen's car pull up and, as she came in view, it seemed about the right time to slip the cuffs off.  
"Jesus, I've hated locking up Barbara to me more than I could ever say," Murmured Nikki to Helen.  
"I've been there. I had to do the same once for Monica Lindsay," Helen's gentle understanding voice answered. She had seen Nikki's tense face and really felt for her. Nikki remembered that of course, she was banged up in her cell once when Helen had come back from Spencer's funeral and she remembered how desolate she sounded.  
"Hi, Barbara," Helen smiled with the most cheerful smile she could summon up and the reality of their surroundings in the churchyard started to hit home. She wasn't the only one where the reality of the tragedy was starting to hit home. Yvonne came into view next and smiled her tightest smile at Barbara, said a few meaningless words and passed on. For once, she didn't crack a joke. She was dressed at her smartest, befitting an Atkins. Churches meant bad news to her as they were about weddings and funerals and her wedding hadn't exactly ended up all hearts and flowers. Her heart gave a wrench as this was where Ritchie's funeral took place and it brought back painful memories despite her best efforts to push them away. "The judge isn't here?" questioned Yvonne of Grayling who was nearest to her.  
"He would have wanted to be here, Yvonne but regrettably, he has to keep his distance in view of the trial. I had reason to speak to him of another matter and he mentioned this to me. You understand"  
Yvonne nodded but only accepted this as a fact. Whatever the judge did was right because of the man, not because of some ancient bleeding ritual. She knew better than to fight it.

Presently, the rest of them started to arrive and each of them looked all around them. Was it only four months ago that this church had given birth to the blend of orchestral sounds, played and sung, which had blasted upwards and outwards to the very rafters to celebrate the creation of life itself? Jo, George, Roisin, Cassie, Grayling, Crystal , Josh, Nikki, Helen and Karen and Barbara briefly mingled around outside and looked nervously at each other with a distinct reluctance to go inside. It seemed a cruel irony to come back to the very same church to mourn the death of Henry whose incredibly kind words had so generously blessed that incredible performance. It is a perfectly natural desire to nostalgically revisit the scene of one's triumphs in life although there is a tendency for a slight let down feeling that the scenery remains the same but people either move on or change or both. There is enough of the original bouquet of experience to still smell fresh even years later. Today was not such a time. This assembly was about the grim finality of death which even Christians are hard put to be philosophical about. Certainly, as Barbara entered the church and heard the smoothly flowing organ chords resonate through the steep vaulted church, she not as much spoke but words were forced out of her. "Why is she playing the organ? It should be me." "I don't know what to say, Barbara but for what it's worth, we're all here for you," Nikki's very hesitant voice groped for a glimmer of failing inspiration. A brief background murmur of assent around them momentarily steadied Barbara for that vital moment.

A young vicar was there in Henry's accustomed place. Barbara dared not look at him but filed her way to the front of the pews, on the right hand side and the others filed in to their pews. Yvonne, sitting between George and Roisin, noted cynically that none of Henry's family deigned to turn up. Bastards. Whatever the arguments there may be in Henry marrying the 'wrong' woman, families should stick together. The high and mighty stuck up toffs could at least pretend to care for Babs. Henry was different, a real gent and it seemed a shame to Yvonne that such a lousy shitty could have happened to him. The funeral hit Jo hard. This death was of the man whose widow ought to have a chance to grieve and not be incarcerated for something that she was not responsible for. The words of the sermon were jumbled round in a meaningless blur. George glanced sideways at Jo and could read her emotions from the tell tale tremor of her lips. It was just as well that she was there and still more, in helping Jo with the case.  
"I know what you're feeling, darling," she whispered, laying a hand on Jo's. "but you're not on your own. Take a look around you"  
George had gained a measure of strength in palpably feeling all the Larkhall women around her. It recalled the feelings of the Lauren Atkins trial when, in her unexpectedly gauche way, she had gained emotional sustenance from them. At one time, she would not have dreamed that she could relate to the word 'sensitive', not when she thought that a steel hard emotional armour would see her through. An occasion like this heightened the minute details of awareness of what was around her and fortunately, fate came to her rescue. Helen was in the row ahead of her and to one side and she turned round and smiled briefly at them. George was right and she got the comfort that she needed.

The rhythms and the phrases of the vicar's sermon were ancient memories to Helen from when she lived at home with her father who was a Scottish minister. Only the accent was different. It meant that her mind could run free. She turned round to see George comfort an obviously distressed Jo and her thoughts lighted upon what John had said about George. Jesus, she would never have suspected that the apparently confident, demonstrably strong woman who was at the top of her own profession could have been the one time potential suicide when her daughter was born. That was an eye opener but then again, people change. She had, for one, as without such a change she would not be living with Nikki. What was an utterly startling revelation was that George came close to repeating this last April and it was the now very broken up Jo who had saved her, not George herself. Where was she when all this was going on, she questioned herself? She finally placed a memory for the event. It must have been a bit after she and Nikki had a gorgeous meal with Karen and George. She was the perfect host and in good spirits. She'd even talked with Karen who was so happy at the time with George. The rather strained stoical woman sitting the other side of her from Nikki wasn't the same woman either. She shook her head in wonder. Perhaps God was right after all as all the vast knowledge of the human race is imperfect. She's the psychologist after all. It was her profession to know people.

Sitting behind Helen, it was only when the vicar paused and addressed the congregation in terms of the man, not the religion that Jo's vision and hearing suddenly became focused and it seemed that someone threw the 'on' switch in her mind.

"I wish to say a few words about a colleague and distant friend of mine, Henry Mills." the young vicar broke in to the more personal part of his service. "You may have not known too much about what was a very modest man who was the last to laud his own achievements. From what I know of him, he would not have thought that he had done anything special with his life, that he had done no more than God demanded of him. With the dearest respect, he would for the first time in his too short life, he would have been wrong. I knew him first when I was a very new vicar, uncertain of what my role is in an age old religion that is facing a fast changing world that offers challenges as never before. Do I merely retread the well-worn paths and rely solely on the equally well-worn texts that have been handed down from generation to generation, I asked myself? God's answer manifested itself in the example of Henry Mills, whose kindness and compassion and willingness to reach out to any human being in distress is unequalled in my experience. Henry was happily married, first to his first wife and then to Barbara and it was not his destiny to be a parent but from what I know of him, he would have been a good father"  
The young vicar, earnest and nervous, coughed a bit and wound into the brief finale. "I am aware that these are highly personal recollections but I trust that there is something in what I have said that all of Henry's friends and relatives, from all walks of life might recognize"  
A deep profound silence could be heard in the church but the very nervous vicar was pleased to tell from the intent expressions on the congregation that he had hit the right note. There was a subtle difference between this and the expressions of the normal congregation who let the familiar words and their rhythms flow over them. "Ahem, I forgot to mention it earlier but I was wondering if Mrs Mills might say a few words for us.  
An electric shock ran through Barbara. A part of her had not expected that had just about got herself prepared to be part of the audience although on the front row and the focus of attention. In so many services, she was tucked to one side of the front of the church and her fingers gently played on the well-worn keys in the organ, which towered up and around her and whose tall metal tubes carried the richness of the music all around her. She was stuck on the front pew. In that fraction of a second, a contrary determined impulse took control. She had to say what came into her mind, for Henry's sake. With determined strides, she walked along the ancient flagstones and climbed the short steps to the pulpit. She adjusted her glasses before speaking.

"I'm totally unprepared for this so I hope everyone will bear with me as I'm not the one normally to stand in the pulpit and speak. I want to say how pleased and supported I feel that so many of my close friends have come today to share our memories of Henry. I know that there are friends of ours who would be if they could but I know that they are here in spirit"  
"The Julies and Denny." Whispered Nikki.  
"…….I must say how touching are the words so kindly spoken about Henry and the strange thing is that he probably never knew the influence he had on people. He would have denied it in his dear way"  
Barbara clutched for a handkerchief as her eyes spotted the ominous shape of the wreath bedecked coffin in front of her. The associations were too strong and everyone's hearts went out to her as she hesitated. With a final access of strength, she carried on.  
"Anyway, I just want to express my feelings about how precious and rare true friendship is. Whether you give or receive it, you are indeed fortunate and you must hang onto it as something to be prized above everything else, ambition, fame"  
At this point Grayling nodded his head in approval. He had worshipped such false gods for so long before he had seen the light, not in any theatrical sense but gradual exposure to decent people. "…….wealth, power and career. It is worth nothing in the long run….. Anyway, just to finish up, I would like you to sing a hymn that was a favourite of Henry's and the words were written by William Blake and it is about faith and struggle. It is Jerusalem."

The swelling organ chords sounded in the introduction and the clear singing tones of the congregation carried out into the dark vastness of the church, with definite shades of "The Creation" and the "Larkhall Tabernackle Choir" and all such experience of feeling in between. 

"And did these feet in ancient times.  
Walk upon England's mountain green.  
And was the Holy Lamb of god, On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the countenance divine,  
Shine forth on our clouded hills?  
And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold,  
Bring me my arrows of desire.  
Bring me my spear : O clouds unfold,  
Bring me my chariot of fire.

I shall not cease from mental fight,  
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,  
Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land."

At a nod from the vicar, the footmen who had waited patiently by swung up the coffin and the congregation filed solemnly and sadly behind and out of the church mixed with feelings that something of Henry's spirit would be carried on. A very attentive audience drew upon the words spoken and each adapted the meanings for their own.

The light was dazzling as they filed into the churchyard. Memories at this point became disjointed of the traditional litany spoken over the gradually descending coffin of "…..earth to earth, ashes to ashes…" They stood around in contemplation as the first clods of earth were thrown into the gaping hole. It was a time for hidden reflection for all of them, for all of their futures. 


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Betaed by Jen and Hunca Munca. 

Part Twenty-Nine

The three of them were silent as they drove back to the prison, Karen behind the wheel and Nikki and Barbara in the back of the car. Karen was only vaguely aware of keeping her eyes on the road, seeming to work on autopilot while her thoughts became steadily more cluttered. She could feel the panic rising in her, the perpetual increase in the nervous tension that was flowing throughout her body. She shouldn't have gone there, no way in hell should she have gone anywhere near that funeral. Ever since the day she'd gone to the seaside to scatter Ross's ashes, she had thrust her memories of those few days immediately following Ross's death out of her mind. It had been impossible for her to escape the loss itself, but she had just about managed to stop herself from persistently dwelling on watching his body going through those terrifyingly ominous curtains. But today, seeing Henry's coffin, had brought everything surging back like a canal whose loch had been allowed to fill up. Seeming to sense her silent distress, Nikki reached over and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, receiving a slight smile in the driving mirror in return. When they pulled up in the prison car park, Nikki and Barbara got out, but Karen stayed where she was. "Are you all right?" Nikki asked, stopping by the driver's window. "I'm fine," Karen said unconvincingly. "You look after Barbara. If you need me for any reason at all, I'll be at home." 

Before Nikki could utter another word, Karen turned the car round and drove away. She needed to get away from there, needed to get away from everyone who knew her. She was falling apart fast, and she knew that it wasn't going to be nice. She was almost frantic as she sped through the traffic, barely noticing as she jumped the occasional lights, feeling her chest constrict as though all the air was being slowly dragged out of her. The feeling of suffocation only grew as she approached her flat, the torrent of emotions that she'd buried since Ross's funeral, representing a far greater threat than Fenner ever had done. She pulled up haphazardly in her driveway, the car being left slightly askew, and fumbled for her keys, trying three before she found the right one for the lock. It was almost as though she couldn't breathe, couldn't quite get in enough oxygen, or at least that's how it felt. It terrified her, this feeling of sheer, blind panic, and as she ran up the stairs to her sitting-room, part of her mind was screaming out to be released, and the rest of her was trying to remain calm. She was sensible, usually, so she knew precisely what was happening to her. She was experiencing an emotional reaction to being forcefully reminded of what it had been like to see her son in a coffin, and now she was hyperventilating. But where on earth was the proverbial paper bag when you wanted one? Without a second thought, Karen moved to her sideboard, and poured herself a very large scotch, taking a grateful swig, hoping that the fiery liquid would shock her senses back into some semblance of order. But her hands were shaking so much that the glass slipped from her hand, splintering and the scotch pooling on the wooden floor. This was just too much for her to stand, what some might call the last straw. She could feel the anger at what Ross had done to her rising up inside her, almost entirely consuming her in its bewitching flames. Why had he done this to her, why? Why hadn't she been good enough for him? She had tried to be the best mother a child could have in the circumstances, but she wasn't perfect, nobody was. Yet, that seemed to have been what he had wanted. Picking up a jagged piece of glass from the floor, she couldn't escape the memory of seeing his body there in the morgue at the clinic, with his arm sliced from edge to edge in that stark, sinister fashion. Is this what he'd wanted, she thought to herself, undoing her cuff and rolling back her sleeve? Did he want her to feel so hurt, and angry, and most of all guilty, whenever she thought about him? As the razor-sharp edge of the broken whisky glass pierced her skin, she felt the tears begin to finally flow down her cheeks. Moving as if in her sleep into the kitchen, she held her arm over the sink as it began to bleed, having just enough presence of mind not to allow her outpouring to create any more mess than was absolutely necessary. She felt an odd sort of relief as her blood, her life essence dripped into the sink, the scarlet droplets representing the strength of pain that had been surging through her only moments before. It hadn't been a conscious decision to start cutting, she had purely done it by instinct. The suffocating feeling was going now, slowly ebbing away just as her blood was doing, leaking away bit by bit, until she finally began to feel calmer. Her tears had thinned her blood as they met her skin, almost making it seem as though it was rich, red Burgundy that was running from the gash in her arm, not the iron-filled coagulating force that was keeping her alive. Yet it hadn't kept Ross alive, had it? His blood hadn't kept him alive, it had killed him by its loss, by running away just as hers was doing right now. 

As this thought jolted her back into her full awareness, she stared down at her arm, as though only just realising what she had done. Then, hastily grabbing a tea towel, she pressed it to the small wound, and put pressure on it in the way she'd been taught whilst learning to nurse. Christ, what on earth did she think she was doing? She wasn't a cutter, she wasn't the same as Buki or Denny, or any of the other cutters she knew, at least she didn't want to think she was. She was just herself, Karen Betts, the mother who hadn't been quite good enough for Ross. Walking through the lounge, avoiding the whisky and broken glass, she went into the bathroom, rummaging in the cabinet above the sink, and emerging with a sterile dressing. Thankful that the wound wasn't deep, she covered it up, staring at her pale, shattered, utterly terrified face in the mirror. 

After taking Barbara back to her cell, Nikki felt at something of a loose end. Barbara had thanked her, but had politely asked to be left alone, saying that she simply needed some time to reflect. Telling Barbara to give her a shout if she needed anything, Nikki left her to it, quietly shutting the cell door behind her. Popping her head round the door of the Julies' cell, she found Julie Saunders writing an essay for her open university course, and Julie Johnston mending the hem on one of her skirts. "You got a minute, Julies?" Nikki asked, pushing the door open a little further. "'Course we have," Julie Saunders replied, looking up from her work. "Come and have a sit down," Julie Johnston invited, moving her sewing paraphernalia to one side to make some room on the bed. After Nikki had handed round her cigarette packet, they all lit up, filling the confined space with smoke. "How did it go?" Julie Saunders asked, seeing how tired Nikki looked. "The same way any funeral goes, I expect," Nikki said ruefully, blowing smoke up at the ceiling, and thinking that but for the smart suit she was wearing, this felt like old times. "It ain't right Henry dying like that," Julie Johnston broke out suddenly. "Leaving poor Babs stuck in this shit hole again." "He couldn't help dying, Ju," Julie Saunders tried to calm her down. "I didn't mean that," Julie J said, looking apologetic. "I just meant that Babs shouldn't be here, going through all this again. She didn't kill anyone, she loved Henry." "That's the law for you, Julie," Nikki told her philosophically. "You know what a pile of bollocks it can be, just as well as I do." "Well, at least she's got a good brief," Julie S said with a slight smile. "What, you mean that one who came to see her, the day after she arrived?" Julie J queried. "I'll have to see it to believe it." "Why so cynical?" Nikki asked, certainly never having questioned her own faith in Jo's ability. "Well, she didn't exactly get Lauren off, now did she," Julie J replied glumly. "It's hardly the same," Nikki told her quietly, trying to keep her voice down because of Barbara in the next-door cell. "Lauren killed Fenner, and no matter how much I might think he got everything he deserved, she did kill him, after weeks of stalking his every move. If Jo had managed to get Lauren found not guilty, it would have been a bloody miracle. Barbara didn't kill Henry, plain and simple. Besides, Jo's got some help this time." "Oh, yeah," Julie S said in thoughtful realisation. "She's got that George Channing, hasn't she? We've only met her twice, but I reckon she'll fight this case with everything she's got. She's the kind of brief who won't go down without a bloody good fight." "We could have done with her when we were in court," Julie J said meditatively. "Just try and keep Barbara occupied in the next few days," Nikki said as she got up to go. "Because now that he's gone, I mean really gone, it's going to be harder than ever for her." 

Later on when Nikki returned home, Helen was waiting for her. "How's Barbara?" She asked, giving Nikki a very welcome hug. "Insisting on being left alone," Nikki said tiredly. "Not that I blame her." "What about Karen? Today can't have been very easy for her." "She roared off home, as soon as she'd dropped us off," Nikki told her, as Helen poured them both a much-needed glass of wine. "She didn't look that good though." "It felt kind of weird, everyone being there today," Helen said contemplatively. "Like we all were for Lauren's trial." "And like we all will be for Barbara's trial," Nikki finished for her. "Jesus, is this what it's going to be like for the next few months?" Nikki asked bleakly, taking Helen in her arms and laying her face against Helen's neck. "Me locking up Barbara, one of my closest friends, just because I think I'm good enough to wear a suit?" "You are good enough to wear a suit," Helen assured her. "And Barbara will be far better off with you as Wing Governor, than she would have been with a perfect stranger looking after her. You're doing everything you can, Nikki, and you can't do any more." "Yes, I can," Nikki said quietly. "I can be a character witness for her for a start. Karen nearly did it for Crystal once, so I don't see why I can't do the same for Barbara." "No, I don't see why you can't either," Helen said thoughtfully, pleased to see that Nikki was at least trying to think positively. "I felt such a shit, putting the cuffs on Barbara today," Nikki said gloomily, brief tears of utter shame rising to her eyes. "When George saw me putting them back on at the end of the funeral, she gave me a look of total disgust, and then smiled apologetically when she saw I'd seen." "Nikki, they all know you had to do it," Helen told her gently, softly running her hand over Nikki's back. "Doesn't make me feel any better though," Nikki said miserably. "You remember when I took Monica to Spencer's funeral?" Helen said quietly. "I felt exactly the same. I hated having to put the handcuffs on her, as though she was nothing more than the likes of Shell Dockley, but I had to do it. Making sure Monica couldn't do a runner, was part of my job, just as it is yours. It makes you feel as though you're the most evil, heartless bitch in the world, but you're just doing your job. Barbara will forgive you for it, if she's even remotely concerned about it, which given what day it is, I doubt." "Why do you always talk so much sense?" Nikki asked tearfully, softly kissing her. "One of yesterday's patients wouldn't agree with you," Helen told her fondly, thinking of John's perpetual insistence on arguing with her. "He got up to walk out at one point, and I found myself shouting at him just as I used to with you." Nikki laughed. "I bet that scared the shit out of him." "It made him listen to me, and it stopped him from walking out, so yeah, I guess it worked. The point is, fulfilling the requirements of your job, whatever that job happens to be, sometimes involves doing things that you bitterly regret. In your position, you can't help that, it's just part and parcel of having superiors who create policies that you have to abide by." 

After patching herself up, and clearing up the whisky and broken glass from the floor of the sitting-room, Karen sat down on the sofa and lit a cigarette. What on earth had made her do something quite so stupid? She'd never even thought of cutting before now, so why today? Why, even taking into account her reaction to being at Henry's funeral, had she suddenly resorted to something so desperate, so soul shattering as cutting? She played absent-mindedly with the dressing on her arm, extremely ashamed of what lay under the covering. Helen had suggested that Ross might have been cutting himself, so what did this make her, no better than her own, highly stupid, utterly self-obsessed son? Feeling the slight sting of the cut, she silently prayed that no one would ever discover what she'd done. But then another thought struck her, drenching her in the cold sweat of emerging fear. Would she, could she do it again? If she ever encountered that feeling of suffocation again, would taking a blade to her skin become her immediate response? 


	30. Chapter 30

Part Thirty

Life at Larkhall went on its routine way despite funerals and tragedies and the early morning routine of the check of the morning post went on, outgoing and incoming. As luck would have had it, Di was in the PO room sorting through a neat pile of post with a slitter placed to the right of her. With practiced easy, she separated the incoming post out. She always worked that way so that she could concentrate the most on the envelopes headed "HMP Larkhall." She reached for her blade and slashed each envelope angrily open with a practiced, assured mannerism and eased each letter out. She ran her eye rapidly over every illiterate scrawl and nearly all the time, the letters were harmless, if pathetic. From her experience, all human life was there, the curiously empty, love struck letters from partners on the outside requesting visiting orders. All manner of human life were scrawled on the raggedy pages. Di laughed cynically inside at the sentiments. Odds were that within a month or so, half of them were shacked up with another con. Some of the prison officers weren't much better and, to cap it all, G Wing was headed by that notorious lesbian of them all. Inwardly, Di hated while her smooth face erased all signs of inner conflict. It was best that way. She had to also watch out for the other threat, the attempt to smuggle in drugs or anything dangerous, especially in parcels. It happened sometimes. She worked quickly through one pile and soon the first heap was done. Nearly all the time, she was able to let the letters go through to their destination and they were sorted for Colin to take to their particular destinations. There was no objection to this invasion of privacy. Sooner or later, prisoners accepted the fact of life that any letter at any time would at least be casually scrutinized. It was a fact of life.

Outgoing mail was a different matter and required more discretion. There were some respectable people on the outside. Sometimes mothers weren't responsible for what their daughters got up to. Mothers and daughters, eh? Story of her life, she dreamed, her mind not quite in focus. She blinked her eyes as she remembered that some of these kids might have gone to the bad but their parents were ready to object to any casual intrusiveness. She got to the last letter and immediately she picked out Denny's familiar script and gave a start. This time, the letter was addressed, not to Yvonne Atkins but to a shockingly familiar name "Michelle Dockley, Ward 18, Ashmoor Special Psychiatric Hospital."

The letters jumped out at her. Shell Dockley had left Larkhall about three years ago but the memory of her had not faded, that mixture of the scheming dangerous woman and the most recent one of the loving mother. She was unpredictable and doubly so, was her influence on Denny. The fact that Denny was writing to her testified to her influence on Denny, for good or bad. She placed that letter on one side, swiftly worked her way through the remaining letters and, at the end, handed these letters to Colin. "These are sorted, Colin. I'm just nipping off to see Nikki about an urgent matter."

Colin raised his eyebrows with surprise at the apparently friendly way she spoke of her and her genuine concern.  
"See you later, Di"  
"I'll be back on the wing soon enough. Can't let the side down, eh," Di replied, a soft smile playing on her face and a tone of brisk enthusiasm in her voice.  
Colin carried on with his job, his back to her and head bent over a ledger. He was starting to log into a valuables book a number of cheques and a recorded delivery letter which had been in the post. He was a precise sort of man and always took care not to make any slipups in the recording. This was money for which he was accountable and responsible if there are any discrepancies. Besides, it gave him an excellent opportunity to bury himself in his work and avoid chatting to Di. It meant that, at most, only a quarter of his attention had to be devoted to her. 

Di strolled out onto the wing and, glancing round to check if Nikki were around, very unusually headed for her office where Nikki was hard at work catching up with a pile of paperwork which had built up incredibly rapidly with the one day away at Henry's funeral. "Hi, come in. What can I do for you?" she said politely enough. Her mind whizzed at breakneck speed wondering what made Di Barker go out of her way to see her.  
"I was wanting a bit of advice. I was wondering what to do with this letter that Denny's written to Shell. I thought of opening it but I wasn't sure how that would go down seeing as she's under hospital treatment. You never know what's going on with her"  
Nikki took the point. She was able to lock onto that mental structure which pushed to one side Dockley as her one time hated enemy as slippery, treacherous and as vicious as a rattlesnake in the undergrowth and replace it as an unpredictable ex inmate with more than her share of problems. She took a sip of her tea and indicated the seat in front of her desk but Di remained standing. Oh well, can't say I didn't try, she thought to herself. "Have you got the letter with you?" came Nikki's instant response.  
Di nodded and laid it on the table. Gingerly, Nikki picked it up. It was strange being in the position of peeking into someone else's private thoughts. It brought back very strong memories of receiving Helen's necessarily cryptic postcards from even such a friendly a soul as Dominic. It felt like an invasion and now, this time, she was going to be the invader. Then the practical side of her took over. She had responsibilities, to prison officers and prisoners alike. She picked up the slitter on her own desk and sliced the envelope open. To the surprise of both of them, a slightly faded and tattered news clipping fell out onto her desk. It was a full page out of the 'Sun', which splashed in uncouth details the whole horrific details the tragedy, which Nikki was trying to forget.  
With an effort, Nikki dragged her mind to the necessities of the job in hand.  
"Should we let the letter go to Shell, Nikki? It's not right, surely?" queried Di with wide-open guileless blue eyes. "We ought to let it go, Di. It's something that Shell Dockley will probably know anyway. It can't do any harm. I will make a point to tell Karen about this and keep her up to speed on it. Does that make sense"  
"Perfectly," Di smiled freely.  
"In the meantime, reseal it and send it on its way and you tell the others to keep their eyes skinned for any return post and any changes in how Denny is getting on. Anything that should be reported, I want to hear about"  
Nikki spoke in her most relaxed, friendly fashion while Di remained just long enough to appear, resisting the temptation to rush off immediately. She made vacuous small talk which Nikki patiently endured before she spoke the words that were foremost in her mind.  
"I best be getting along, Nikki and get it sorted out"  
She laughed slightly nervously and went out the door, displaying suitable keenness for the job in hand. Nikki sighed and lit up her cigarette for the day as a break before attacking the mountain of files. Her mind had been so focused on the job that she forgot to say farewell to Di. She shrugged her shoulders. It didn't matter.

It took till lunchtime for Nikki to be able to clear all her work. It was funny but files landed on her desk in the same way that London busses appeared, nothing for some time and, out of the blue, loads of them. Finally, she made her way over to Karen who had been similarly quiet, at least she had not had a phone call from her all morning, which was unusual. She knocked politely at the door to see Karen's eyes glued to her computer. She was intently focused to the screen and it took her a few minutes for her to be aware of Nikki's presence. Despite her rather forced smile, Nikki sensed that Karen was not exactly at her best. Her eyes looked tired as the clue as there is only so much that makeup will cover.

"I thought I'd let you know that we've picked up a letter sent from Denny to Shell," Nikki started without preamble, still in her 'hurrying through the work' mode of thinking.  
Karen's head swiveled round, totally taken aback by that voice to one side of her, out of the corner of her vision. Her eyes flitted round nervously, looking fairly blank to begin with.  
"What do you mean, Nikki? Is that all you came to tell me?" she replied rather testily after an untypically long pause. "There's more to it than that, Karen," came Nikki's rather more gently phrased answer.  
"I opened the letter and there was a newspaper clipping of when you were in the papers after Ross died"  
"After he abandoned his life in the same way that he lived it," Added Karen's bitter response. "They say that death comes in threes, first Ross, next Henry and tomorrow, who knows"  
Nikki winced at the raw edge in Karen's voice. She was doing what she always did in a crisis, put on a deliberately hard unfeeling shell to mask the pain. It didn't sound good.  
Her eyes kept flitting back to the computer screen. She could so easily lose herself in the depths of the electronic universe, far easier than the real one. She didn't have to talk to anyone but could hide her face in the shelter of an E-mail identity. She resorted to keeping matters light and bright to distract her though exactly why she should, totally escaped her.  
"Those superstitions belong to the age of Sylvia's mother of which we've all heard so much. Remember, the one who was responsible for spreading enlightenment and humanity to so many. Never believed in them myself"  
"Nikki, I know you're trying your best to cheer me up but right now, it isn't working. Thanks for trying but you'd better leave me on my own"  
There was a dull, defeated tone in Karen's voice that made Nikki think twice about reasoning with her to come out into the light and the life around her. It was no good, she realized, she would have to just let her be and hope that whatever was disturbing Karen would blow over. She turned for the door and gently clicked the door behind her. It was only five minutes later that she remembered that she'd forgotten to tell Karen that she would keep her up to speed on the matter but it would definitely not be a good idea to pop back and see her. This had to be a first and it worried her. 


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Thirty-One

On the Friday of that week, all three of them were in court together, Jo for the prosecution, George for the defence, and John on the bench as usual. This occasionally provided some friction between the three of them, no matter how much they tried not to discuss the case outside of court. When pushed, neither Jo nor George would ever give up the chance to argue their point, sometimes making John feel the urge to bang their heads together. Jo had been relatively quiet since Henry's funeral on Wednesday, which was probably why she and George hadn't yet gotten around to arguing about this case. But by Friday lunchtime, George's nerves were becoming distinctly frazzled. She was well aware that her case was slipping through her fingers, and no matter how good Jo's arguments might be, that didn't mean George had to like it. 

Foregoing her usual cigarette at the beginning of the lunchtime adjournment, she waited until she saw Coope heading for the canteen, and made her way up to John's chambers. When he bade her to enter, she found him sitting at his desk, finishing a ham sandwich and reading some papers. "I thought it might be you," He said, wiping his fingers on his handkerchief and coming over to her. "My client is going to fire me at this rate," She said, sounding thoroughly despondent. "And I can't even be cross about it." "That's the name of the game, George," He told her, enfolding her in his arms. "I know," She said miserably. "It just gets a bit wearing sometimes, that's all." "You used to find fighting for a living a real turn on," He said, gently kissing her. "I know, and I still do, just not with Jo. Fighting with you was always different somehow." "That's because the making up is different," He told her between increasingly fervent kisses. "With you and me, the bigger the fight, the harder and more furious the making up. You can't ever have that sort of sex with Jo, so the fighting can't ever be neutralised so satisfactorily." Her nipples began to harden in response to his enchanting little lecture, and as he pulled her fast against him, he could feel them almost grazing his torso. "You really are in a bad way," He mocked her lasciviously. "Becoming quite so aroused whilst in a judge's presence, really is a most punishable offence." "You'll have me as wet as that street out there if you're not careful," She said a little unsteadily, as the rain pattered against the window. But as John softly laughed, and brought a hand up to begin deftly massaging her left breast, George realised that she wasn't the only one in a significant state of arousal. 

"See, I said you would get it back, now didn't I," She said in delight, moving her slim thigh up against him. John just stared down at her in shock. She was right, he couldn't believe it. After the last couple of weeks of perpetually fretting that he wouldn't ever again be able to satisfy his women, he was actually as hard as a rock, he was whole again! "You're an angel," He told her ecstatically. "I think this calls for a little celebration on your part," She said, with a gleam in her eye as she persuaded him in the direction of the sofa. "The last person I did that with in here was Francesca Rochester," John told her, realising her intention. "Which is why I intend this to be entirely different," George told him firmly. "I can seriously outweigh that scheming little bitch for behaving badly, any day of the week." John laughed. "That's true enough," He replied, sinking down onto the sofa. "Before I ruin my reputation entirely, are there still cameras in here?" She asked, knowing that this was how he and Francesca had been originally found out. "There's only one, but I covered it up a long time ago." When she sank to her knees, showing him precisely what she intended to do, he said, "Are you sure?" "Well, I would really rather you were sat on your throne in court, but I suppose here will have to do," She said almost dismissively. "You're priceless," He said with a smirk, as she reached to undo his flies. Oh, god, that first touch of her lips on his firm column of flesh, felt incredible, almost as though he was experiencing it for the very first time. He couldn't quite believe they were here, in his chambers, and she was doing this to him of all things. But then his beautiful little minx always had loved to behave extremely badly. 

Once Jo had smoked a cigarette and had something to eat, she thought that she might as well kill the remainder of her time by going to see John. She needed something to calm her down before the afternoon's session, and some of his usual charm would probably do the trick. Seeing that Coope was engaged in eating lunch with some of the other clerks, Jo waved to her, and walked up the stairs. It didn't occur to her that John might not be alone, so giving a brief perfunctory knock on his door, she opened it without further ado. The sight that greeted her, made her temporarily speechless. John was lounging on the sofa, with a look of sheer bliss on his face, and George was kneeling between his slightly parted thighs, nothing of what she was doing being left to the imagination. Jo just stared. Never in her wildest dreams could she have thought something like this would look quite so erotic. Looking up at her with a broad smile, John simply said, "If you're staying, please come in and close the door. I don't want the world and his wife for an audience." Coming back to her senses, Jo did just that, absent-mindedly pushing the lock home as she did so. 

Sitting down on the sofa beside John, she leaned over and kissed him. "You look a lot happier," She said with a warm smile. "Do you blame me?" He countered back, trying to keep his voice steady, which was becoming more and more difficult under George's ministrations. "I take it you found the cure then?" "So it would seem," Jon replied, his voice deeper than usual. Reaching out a hand, Jo gently touched George's cheek. "Do you have any idea how incredible you look?" She asked, though not really expecting an answer. George just smiled up at her, smirking as she flicked out a delicate pink tongue, making John suck in a breath through his teeth at the sensation of it flickering over his skin. 

George really began to get into her stride now that Jo was here, delighting in the opportunity to show off one of her talents. Jo's eyes widened when she saw just how far back into her throat George could take him, withdrawing in turn to just the tip. John had his arm around Jo by now, and was softly kissing her, the combined attentions of his two favourite women, making his desire all the more intense. Jo didn't think she'd ever seen something sexual quite so expertly done, and part of her wished that she too could do that for him. When George's movements became rhythmically faster, John's left hand rested on her shoulder as though to steady her. Jo's eyes focused on what George was doing, not entirely having believed that anyone would do this until now. John groaned luxuriously into Jo's mouth as he came, George taking in everything he had to offer. 

Afterwards, as John fastened his trousers, George got swiftly to her feet, and knocked back the half mug of tea that was sitting on John's desk. When she put the mug down and turned back to face them, they were both smiling at her. "Do you feel more like your old self now?" She asked John, slightly ruffling his hair. "If I had more time," He told her lasciviously, pulling her down onto his knee. "Neither of you would be getting out of here unscathed." "Well, you'll have to wait until the end of the afternoon, won't you," Jo said with a broad grin. "I could just construct a reason to cancel court for this afternoon," John suggested lightly, knowing that he wouldn't ever cancel court for such a reason. "Now that, might be a punishable offence," George replied with a laugh, kissing him lingeringly. "And as I'm going to be aroused to the point of internal combustion for the next few hours, you can bloody well wait till later." "I'm sure I could alleviate your difficulty right here and now, for both of you," He promised seductively, and Jo noticed his right hand slowly edging its way up the inside of George's skirt. "Stop it," George told him smartly, slapping his hand away. "You've got an entire weekend to make up for lost time, so I'm sure a couple of hours won't do you any harm." 


	32. Chapter 32

Part Thirty Two

The trial proceeded smoothly towards the end of the day, the afternoon session being especially harmonious. It did not prevent George in indulging in one or two of her favourite debating ploys just for the sake of it which Jo parried with as much good humour as once John dueled with Roe Colmore, only with words not foils. There was a definite playful banter as far as the seriousness of the matter in hand permitted. That measure of levity did not go unobserved.

As John trod slowly out of the courtroom, he was aware of a sharp clicking sound behind his languid lengthy stride. John paid it no attention. Some instinct told him to ignore it in hopes that it would go away overlaying an instinct that told him that he would be out of luck. He sighed as the sounds came closer. Just his luck when all he wanted was to flop down in his armchair and bask in contentment. "Might I have a word with you, John?" that tight hard voice sounded in his ear.  
"What would you say if I said no?" came his impish response. As the eyebrows of the other man rose, he added in weary tones. "You might as well come in now as anytime, Ian. Cup of tea?" They observed the polite preliminaries and sipped at his cup of tea. So had he behaved when he was summoned before his headmaster before being punished for one of his more stylish transgressions of the school rules? As he thought back in time, he could not be sure if he was better or worse off in those days, the disadvantages of the very unequal balance of power as opposed to the advantages that rules were written down and he knew where he stood. These days, as the apparatchiks encroached more and more into what areas of freedoms still remained, what once was meritorious was becoming frowned upon as the half way staging post before being outlawed or proscribed. Conversely, what once was described as shameless, self-seeking greed was now described as the meritorious action of 'wealth creators?" Other people demeaned himself in slavishly worshipping the new gods for the grace and favours they received. As a fleeting aside, he wondered what Helen would make of this recklessly defiant and obstinate streak in him. They had never discussed such matters but he suspected that Helen would be sympathetic to that side of his personality of which he had never been ashamed. He was fated to fight yet another battle when he really couldn't be bothered to look for trouble. He knew that destiny would win.  
"By coincidence, I happened to drop in on your court this afternoon, John. You may have overlooked me"  
"I spotted you in your accustomed place at the back of the visitor's gallery. I confess I was curious about your presence but I assumed that I would be enlightened in due course"  
"Yes, well I couldn't help noticing the increasingly cordial relations between you, Jo and George. Even allowing for the orchestral performance and the rehearsals. I confess that it is a surprise"  
"An improvement, I trust? You would surely not want us all to be at daggers drawn as at the time of the 'One Way' phone trial," John replied in his smoothest, most imperturbable manner.  
Sir Ian winced to John's amusement. From his adolescence onward, he had impishly enjoyed that smooth neatly delivered thrust at the weak spot of the overbearing and pompous bully. Once that temptation flashed into his mind, it was only a split second to give way to it and spoken words to follow. "Hardly, John. There must be a balance"  
"Oh," John observed with an exaggerated appearance of profound philosophical enlightenment. "You mean that I should steer the conduct of the trial so that an acceptable measure of balanced hostility should be observed between all parties. Truly, you are asking me to steer such trials through such perilous waters." Sir Ian shut up at this for a few minutes and sipped slowly from his cup of tea while the teaspoon jangled around in the saucer.  
"There's another matter I wanted to make discreet enquiries about and that is the Mills trial"  
At another time, Sir Ian's callous description of Barbara enraged him. Instead, he gently reproached him. "Her name is Barbara, Ian. You remember, the lady who so kindly volunteered her services to play the harpsichord and, with her late husband, the generous use of church hall and the church itself." "Don't I remember? I wish to God I had not made the acquaintance of the woman who is now on trial for murdering her husband"  
Still the same old Ian, John concluded wearily. The supposed eleventh commandment 'thou shalt not be found out' was custom made for the man. Come to think of it, that squalid weasly fellow schoolboy wasn't that much better.  
"You don't object to hobnobbing with dubious acquaintances who, in a just society, would be behind bars but I forgot, the power of the establishment defends one of their own. Who in hell invented the phrase, a level playing field? One of the most ineptly crass expressions imaginable"  
"Ever the one to act morally superior," sneered Sir Ian, his temper rising. "You'll put a foot wrong one of these days and then, we'll have you"  
"Look, just spare me the vitriol, Ian," Came John's bored response. "I came to my chamber to rest awhile, not to trade insults with a doubtfully welcome gatecrasher. Say what you've come to say and be gone." Sir Ian shut up for several minutes and fumed inwardly. Even though he had never been able to win a single argument with John, some perverse sense of duty could not let him give it up as a bad job. Questions would be asked by his political masters but that was only half the matter. It was not necessary for some slave master to threaten those whose lives he ruled with the threat of the lash. Sir Ian was driven uncontrollably to do that to himself psychologically.  
"I confess that I was somewhat surprised that you had got wind of proposals to move both trial and the accused's prison further afield out of harm's way"  
"We live in an age where information is increasingly available. Take the internet. I must confess that it has spread the availability of knowledge so that it can be retrieved at a touch of a button. Whereas the reporting of court cases took such laborious efforts to print up in book form, to be published and then distributed, one click of a button and, there it appears on the screen of my laptop over there"  
Sir Ian cut short John's enthusiastic endorsement of the internet. To him, it was a confounded nuisance and let far too many common people get access to dangerous ideas. The damned thing smacked of anarchy and, what was worse, it was so infernally hard to understand.  
"I have not come to discuss the relative merits of the internet. It might be a useful merchandising toy but other than that, I have no interest in it. What is more to the point is how these proposals were leaked to you or did you indulge in unauthorized snooping"  
The nerve of the fellow, John thought. Another time he would have got angry but today, he laughed out loud.  
"Of course, Ian, when you talk so self righteously of snooping you are forgetting the over zealous functionary who acted as disgracefully as any despised paparazzi in photographing me and Jo, that night she was at my digs. Does it ring a bell by any chance"  
Sir Ian coughed while sipping his cup of tea, jerked it as his face twitched in discomfort and spilled some of it into his saucer.  
"Will you come to the point, John? I will be answered"  
Sir Ian tried to lash himself into a fury in order to sound dominant and powerful but only succeeded in coming over as petulant.  
"Rest assured, the trial will be in safe hands. As I said when I talked the matter over with Monty, I freely confess that I would have had misgivings if I had sole charge of this case. It would be very hard for any single judge to be dispassionate. The combination of the two of us seem unlikely but I sense that Monty and I may pull it off. I have not had a cross word with him since the performance. I freely admit that we are taking a risk but so is any alternative"  
"But the leak?" Piped up Sir Ian. He was so agitated that he had set the cup of tea down and was pacing around restlessly.  
"You surely don't expect me to divulge my sources of information to you any more than I expect you to discuss your sources of information to me," Came John's answer in lordly amusement and, he had to add his stinger of a follow up riposte. "Level playing field, Ian. You know it makes sense."

Sir Ian's level of frustration had built up to a crescendo and he was about to lose his temper when he realized that Deed was behaving differently. There was a distinct note of bored disdain and a reluctance to pile in, full tilt into a full-scale row with him. The fellow was too smug and self satisfied by half. "You're looking very cheerful," Sir Ian's hardest, accusatory tones accompanied his squint of concentration. "The last time I remember you looking that way was when you slept with my wife"  
"Afterwards, surely, Ian. No, this was far more pleasurable"  
For once, Sir Ian managed to resist rising to the bait. He wasn't sure if deed was playing with him. It would be his style to have such a reprehensible sense of humour. That silence spurred John to drop another bombshell on him.  
"By the way, Ian. I am moving out of the digs into my own flat in the very near future. It means that my fellow judges won't be disturbed by my comings and goings. It does make the LCD spy network somewhat redundant"  
Sir Ian reacted as if someone had jabbed him with a red-hot needle. Goodness knows what a 'let off the leash' Deed might get up to without the restraining influence of the brethren. The LCD spy network was precisely the point. John was someone whom it was positively incumbent on them to spy upon.

"You can't, you mustn't. It would be unwise. The digs provide a certain collective protection from the close proximity of the outside world which is increasingly dangerous to the reputations of public figures," he spluttered away vaguely and incoherently. "I am touched by your concern, Ian," John grinned. "I think I am quite capable of looking after myself. I repeat, I would have thought that such a move would mean a more peaceful life for you. Think of it, no more complaints from my fellow judges about my private life. They can go their way and I can go mine. Everyone will be happy"  
Sir Ian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. There had to be more to it than this. "Just what schemes are you up to, John?" Sir ian growled, coming to the point.  
"None whatsoever, Ian. Much though I am gratified by your continuing concern for my welfare, I fear you have outworn your welcome. I really could do with some peace and contemplation." Sir Ian stalked off. He had gained precisely nothing from his errand and had received news, which disturbed him greatly. All the time, he couldn't put into words the worrying mental picture of a John Deed unleashed on the world at large, free to get up to anything he wanted with nobody knowing. It was that fear that he felt most strongly but he couldn't say it in so many words. Of course, Deed had chosen to remain utterly oblivious of his dark hints. He would, he fumed angrily as he slammed a door behind him viciously. Unexpectedly, its well-oiled hinges allowed it to slam shut with a loud thud and the superb acoustics made the sound echo round the high ceilings in a sequence of sound waves that only slowly diminished. Immediately, Sir Ian felt totally sheepish and embarrassed and he tiptoes his way out into the sharp cutting wind of an October evening. 

John smiled freely to himself. The very unexpected sexual gratification from a very bold and forward George and the presence of a very interested and curious Jo had restored his self esteem and did a lot to restore that sense of sense of 'all's right with the world.' Correction, all's right with his immediate surroundings and the rest of the world was a madhouse with him as a leading force to reclaim the world, as it should be. He could live with that external turmoil, even thrive on it perversely. It was only when he started to question his own place in the universe that he started to worry. He suspected that this feeling could grow inside him and gnaw away at his self-belief. That sense of self-doubt was a very dangerous form of emotional castration, which had him in a grip that even his strength could not free himself from. If he did not believe in himself, whoever that restless fellow was, then who was he? He shook his head in bemusement at the thought that he had never seen fit to ask that one question while everything else around him was there to be probed and illuminated by his formidable intellect. All he knew that he would have to account to himself at some time in the future or to Helen at the next therapy session or both. Up till then, at least for this evening, he had achieved a measure of balance. 


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Thirty-Three

Both George and Jo had been on something of a high for the rest of the afternoon, neither feeling remotely capable of going back to the office, to tidy up their unfinished paperwork before the weekend. They both however knew this to simply be one of the job's many irritations. If they'd been in court for too much of the week, other things were left until late on Friday to complete. When they left to go their separate ways, George gave Jo a broad smile, ran a teasing tongue along her upper lip as a promise of what was to come later, and roared away looking extremely pleased with herself. But as Jo drove back to her office and began catching up on a couple of day's worth of e-mails, she couldn't get that image of George expertly fellating John out of her mind. Was it John who had taught her to do that? Jo supposed it was. But what had possessed George to want to learn in the first place? Then she remembered what John had told her the week before, about George's desire to be bad, to feel as though she was digressing against a normal moral code of decency. What was it in George that made her like this, Jo wondered, and therefore, could she really find Jo as sexually inviting as she always said she did?

When she eventually arrived at George's at around eight-thirty that night, after detouring home for a shower and a change of clothes, she wondered if John would already be there. After a little while of self-enforced celibacy, he would be very eager to make up for lost time. But John hadn't yet arrived. When George opened the door, she was wearing nothing but the thin, silk robe Jo had bought her for her birthday. "I do like you in that," Jo said as she came in and closed the door. "That's excellent taste for you, darling," George said, kissing her. "Have you eaten?" "No, and I'm starving," Jo told her, smelling something wonderful coming from the kitchen. "It's only chicken casserole out of the freezer," George told her as they moved towards the tempting aroma. "I really couldn't be bothered to cook tonight." She had heated up some rice to go with the fragrant casserole, and they sat at the kitchen table to eat it. "Is John not joining us?" Jo asked, seeing only two places. "Not yet," George replied, filling two glasses from a bottle of rich Burgundy. "He's having dinner with Monty, to discuss Barbara's case. But I shouldn't imagine anything will keep him from joining us as soon as is politely possible." 

They ate in companionable silence for a while, George's gaze soft on Jo, because she could see that Jo's brain was gradually working up to asking her something. After taking a mouthful of the Burgundy, Jo finally broached the subject that had been creeping into her awareness all afternoon. "What on earth made you want to learn to do that?" Smiling broadly at her, George said, "I wondered how long that would take you." "I don't mean to be quite so predictable," Jo said a little sheepishly. "Darling, you're not, but coming from someone who isn't a particular fan of what I did this afternoon, it's a perfectly natural thing to ask. You surprised the hell out of me when you appeared, you know, because I really hadn't been expecting an audience. I wasn't sure if that was something you would really want to see." "George, when I opened the door, and took in what you were doing to him, it was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. Where you were was probably quite a significant part of that. It occurred to me that I could have been anyone, Coope, Ian Rochester, anyone, but neither of you cared. That's what made it so intense, the fact that both of you were prepared to take such a risk. Watching you do that, it was, I don't know, as though my eyes had been opened far more than they previously had been." As they'd both finished eating, George reached across the table, laying a hand over one of Jo's. "I remember the first time I ever did that for John," George told her with a slightly fond smile. "I'd tried it before, with a couple of other men, but I hadn't been especially successful at it. This made me very wary of trying it with John, because he was such an incredible lover, so I didn't want to disappoint him. But you know John, he manages to worm confidences out of you so skillfully, that before you know it, you've told him more than is really good for you. I think I'd been sleeping with him for about four months, when I finally plucked up the courage to try it. John didn't criticise what I did, he taught me how to do better. John is even now, an incredibly patient lover, and he could see that doing that for him was something I badly wanted to achieve. You could say I wanted it so badly, because I needed to give something back. I wanted to make him feel just as special as he always made me feel. He wouldn't let me take him all the way like that for a very long time, not until he knew I was confident enough with the rest of it. Perhaps the most valuable lesson John did teach me during the years of our marriage was to accept me for who I was. He taught me that it was perfectly all right to explore the sexual side of my character with complete freedom. I'm not entirely sure why I like some of the things that I do, things that most people would consider slightly abnormal to say the least, but I always had John's constant reassurance that it wasn't wrong to feel as I do. Yes, I know he became very unsettled over the idea of me being with another woman, but we both know that was because he felt threatened, not something he'd ever previously felt by any other of my slightly outlandish fantasies." After a short, thoughtful silence, Jo said, "Taking all that into account, I don't want you to end up finding me too," She hesitated over the right adjective, "predictable. Sleeping with a woman is about as far as my alternative sexual exploration has gone." "And I don't want to frighten you off or in any way disgust you," George told her seriously. "The thing that John almost told you but didn't, is something we haven't done since we were married. I'm not even certain that John would still consider doing it for me if I asked him. It took me nearly two years to tell John about that, and I had to get pretty drunk to even contemplate saying it then. He wasn't especially surprised when I finally told him what I wanted, but then you know just how infuriatingly difficult it is to really shock him at any time. So, if I do ever get around to telling you about it, which I honestly doubt, it won't be until I know you an awful lot better than I do already." 

As they cleared away the meal, Jo said a little ruefully, "John always has enjoyed playing the part of tutor." "Yes," George agreed with a laugh. "Nothing makes him happier than to pass on knowledge or expertise of some form or another. Law, bed, music, you name it. Did he do that with you too?" "Sometimes," Jo admitted a little sheepishly. "I occasionally found myself feeling like a virgin all over again." "I doubt he'd ever admit it," George said dryly. "But I suspect John once had a thing for seducing virgins. It would give him an incredible boost of ego to introduce someone to the delights of making love." "Perhaps when he was in his twenties," Jo suggested meditatively. "But once he really got the taste for picking up random strangers, the responsibility of taking someone's virginity would have been too great for him. It would have meant his having to take a lot more care with their feelings than he otherwise might have done." It felt odd to both of them, discussing John like this in his absence, but they both knew it to be a product of their growing intimacy with each other. Neither of them entirely knew what to expect when John arrived later that evening, but they did know that the more they talked, the more they tried to get to know the woman they'd avoided knowing for so many years, their relationship with both John and each other, would only continue to strengthen, enabling them to provide the stability and depth of warmth that John so badly craved. 


	34. Chapter 34

Part Thirty-Four 

Yvonne's sleepy ears picked out the faint sounds of Lauren getting up first thing only a little later than normal even though she had the morning off work. She was quieter and neater round the house than she used to be before Lauren had been brutally snatched away from her. How many times had Yvonne cursed the way she used to leave a shoe or pair of shoes lying about the furthermost corner of the house, forget about it and then whinge on at her about it? Life should have been better when the two of them started sharing the house. Indeed it had been but there were still these petty arguments from time to time. They used to loom large at a time when Yvonne forgave her for working so hard and so long, not knowing that she had been stalking Fenner. Shooting and burying alive even a total bastard like him was just ever so slightly more important than being a pain of a domestic slob. Yvonne noted sleepily with satisfaction that Lauren's year in prison had at least given her a sense of self-discipline. It had to be that way, she remembered, when what little of your private belongings was squeezed into a shared wardrobe where space was precious. Leaving personal belongings carelessly around wasn't the safest thing to do as things had a nasty habit of disappearing. Larkhall wasn't exactly some five star hotel with your own room service. She should be grateful that at least some good had come out of a year being snatched out of her life with Lauren being away. Of course, when Charlie was around, everything around was perfect. Appearances had to be kept up, from makeup to meals on the table. It had to be or she would suffer the consequences behind closed doors. The house and everything and everyone had been kept in proper order.Yvonne shivered at the memory and not because, in late October, winter was well and truly setting in. She craved the warmth, hence the idea of the Spanish villa which Charlie had agreed to just to be flash and a showoff. She needed emotional warmth too, much though she had spent a lifetime denying it. Her bed was soft and warm and she dozed off into dreamland.

Several hours later, she was reclining in the living room when Lauren came into sight. Rain was lashing against the window and spotted the still waters of the unused swimming pool.  
"I'm taking got the morning off work, mum but I'm going out in case any of the lads phone up and ask questions," Lauren informed her.  
"Going anywhere special"  
"The therapy session with Meg Richards"  
Yvonne pricked up her ears at the way that Lauren spoke and closely scrutinized the expression on her face. There was no trace of negativity, of boredom or distaste, only as a bald statement of fact. "How's it going, if you don't mind me being nosy"  
"Be my guest. In a few words, so far so good"  
"Meaning"  
"She's good," Judged Lauren in her laconic but respectful fashion. "She was the one who got me to talk when I was banged up, a trial hanging over my head and withdrawing from the weird state of mind that got me to kill Fenner"  
"So what things does she talk about"  
"She gets me to talk about myself," corrected Lauren. "It isn't comfortable or easy on the ear. More like watching a horror film, switching off the telly and realizing that it's me all the time"  
"Jesus"  
"First thing I had to do was to accept that whatever she throws at me, and she does it very quietly without warning. I had to trust in her that she knows what she's doing. Otherwise, whatever the judge said, I'd have done a runner"  
"That's my girl," Yvonne said proudly. Lauren's matter of fact manner was belied by the description of what she was going through. Nevertheless, she could tell that Lauren in her quiet, determined fashion would see it through to the end of the line, wherever and whenever that would be.  
"I'm beginning to realize that Atkins' aren't that good on trust. Always looking over their shoulder to check out to see if someone is taking them for a ride. Smile nicely, lull them into a false sense of security and sneak up on them when they're not expecting it. Sounds a pretty paranoid way of dealing with people when you think of it"  
"Makes me sound a right cow," Joked Yvonne.  
"You might have sounded like that when you were in public or when Charlie was around but you always softened up when we were on our own and when Ritchie was younger. I could see it in your eyes," Came Lauren's slow deliberate answer.  
"So what went wrong"  
Yvonne immediately regretted the bluntness of the question. It came right off the tip of her tongue. She was apt to talk that way after years of having to watch every word when she was with Charlie.  
"That's what I've been trying to figure out," Lauren said slowly. "Charlie really got into the inside of my head in a big way. He was a charmer, he dominated. I mean, he couldn't have taught me to fire a gun in the back garden when I was thirteen without him having some sort of hold over me. I mean, I grew up having more spending money than most kids. Everything I wanted materially, I could have, everything I wanted, everything except a normal life. Everything was so confusing, especially when Ritchie got into his teens. It was like listening to a television with two channels playing at once"  
Lauren could see that expression of hurt and intense guilt flood across her face. She laid her hand on her mother's arm.  
"Don't beat yourself up about it, OK, I know you will whatever I say. Believe me when I say that I really think that you could have done no different. It's so easy, looking backwards at what you did, or didn't do, in your life. You can go to the grave with guilt written over your heart. There must be a different solution"  
Yvonne remained silent. She sensed that Lauren was on a roll in what she had to say and the occasional nod of her head would be all that was necessary.  
"So what do I do at these sessions? It's like going back to school in a way but I'm not there just to listen to the teacher gas on and get a test and be marked, seven out of ten and a gold star or whatever"  
Through Lauren's mind came the memory of Cassie and Roisin talking about their kids and showing their homework. God, sometimes she wished that she could return to school. Life was so easy, so certain. She envied them their innocence. That's why she loved being with them. Hers had disappeared long ago, if she ever had it. Innocence and being an Atkins didn't exactly go together.  
"…….I learned recently by talking to Meg just how ingrained it is to think like an Atkins. I've got a lousy temper, I know it. Something goes off in my mind to hit back as hard as I can if I'm crossed, fair means or foul. You just don't take out the old mental programme, chuck it away and slot in a new and better one, it's not that easy. I've been away from all that shit and trying to learn how to be a better person. I have to learn to count to five and try and bottle down that blind anger and really think it through. It's not like learning to drive but unlearning one way of driving and consciously trying to learn a completely different style. It's a real strain"  
"Since when has this been a problem"  
"At work," Lauren replied shortly. "Some of the lads, between you and me, do daft things and, instead of behaving like an Atkins, I try and handle things differently"  
"Losing your rag ain't exactly a hanging offence," Put in Yvonne.  
"Once you've got the small battles won, the big ones come easily. I tell you, it's a real struggle"  
Lauren gazed contemplatively into the distance while Yvonne respected that silence. They had got to that companionability where they could be silent if there was nothing to say. While they took their ease, Trigger had padded softly downstairs with big mournful eyes and flopped down on the carpet without bustling over to them and demanding to be made a fuss over. He curled himself up on the carpet, his legs splayed out.  
"Trigger looks tired these days. He isn't as lively as he used to be," Lauren said casually.  
"He's getting old, Lauren. It happens to all of us"  
"Even you, mum?" Lauren enquired with a hint of a smile on her face.  
"Cheeky sod," Yvonne retorted, grinning as she moved towards Trigger and bent over to ruffle his hair. Trigger rolled over on his back. "Meg was talking about the way that I still lived at home," continued Lauren after Yvonne let Trigger sprawl all over the carpet. "I explained to her that I hadn't any plans to settle down. I don't exactly fancy getting dressed all in white and meekly submitting to some dickhead of a man to ruin my life like he did yours"  
True, thought Yvonne. If only she knew then what she had come to learn now it wouldn't necessarily be a man that she'd be hitched to. Then again, someone like the judge was real class in every sense of the word. She had fond memories of that very special night. "She wasn't starting to ask me was I gay or straight or whatever," Lauren explained. "It was just that she gently eased me into a corner that I had to say that it was commitment itself that I was afraid of. I'd seen what had happened to you and Charlie and didn't want the same in my life. I came out with the easy explanations that I'm happy living at home. It's true but it's not the whole picture. She quietly explained that it is perfectly natural that I wouldn't want to repeat the bad experiences of the older generation and that was what was known as learning from life. Only I can really work out what I really want out of life"  
"Did she tell you that one"  
"No, that's what I worked out for myself and told her. She agreed with me"  
Yvonne beamed at Lauren's words. She was getting her life together, a bit at a time. They sat companionably next to each other while Lauren's rapid mind worked out all the plans she could make in her life. She smiled with satisfaction until a face popped into her mind and it wiped the smile off her face.

"There's Denny," Lauren said abruptly in total shock. "I haven't contacted her since I got out which must be, shit, two months ago"  
She put her hand to her mouth in shock. She didn't think she'd been out that long but the days had marched on relentlessly without her being aware of it. She could see in her mind's eye the hurt expression on Denny's face that she'd abandoned her. Of course, she'd been busy but that sounded a pathetic excuse to anyone banged up with too much time to brood when little things got so easily magnified out of proportion. She remembered how Denny had been there for her and her way of repaying her was to shut Larkhall out of her mind and everyone else who was stuck in there.  
"So what are you going to do about it?" Yvonne interrupted, breaking the spiraling train of panic and guilt reaction.  
"Do?" Lauren asked vaguely.  
"You know, what your shrink told you what to do when you mess up. She must talk about stuff like that"  
Yvonne's shrewd thrust went home. It was the more effective, as she was so casual about the matter. Lauren breathed in and out intensely and she looked out of the window, far beyond the garden, far away all those miles to those grey walls. She could almost see them in front of her. With an effort, she looked at her mother and her gaze gradually sharpened and focused in on her.  
"Meg said that 'I should break the cycle of mistakes,'……'to not be afraid to admit to yourself if you're in the wrong' ….that 'once you've done that, it makes it easier to tell anyone else'……." Lauren said in a slow dreamy voice, her intonation that of repeating a lesson from school.  
"So what does that mean, Lauren"  
"I'd better visit her, no, write to her, do something to contact her, phone her." Lauren rapped out the words in a stream of utterance as she fished around for the least painful way of remedying the fault.  
"You can't phone in on the payphone, Lauren," reminded Yvonne quietly.  
"I'd sooner phone and talk to Denny even if she bites my head off. At least I'd know," Lauren replied firmly and decisively.  
"Look, Lauren, what say I phone up Nikki and ask her to pass on a message to Denny? I wouldn't want to bother her but if it would help Denny, she'd do it"  
Lauren looked back with grateful eyes. Mum had the solution.

As luck had it, Nikki was at her desk when the phone rang. The rain was beating down against her windows "Hi, it's Yvonne. Don't want to disturb you but I wonder if there's a little favour you'd be able to do me, dead legit like"  
"That's not like you to be coy, Yvonne?" Nikki retorted, grinning at Yvonne's almost exaggerated persuasion. "It's for my Lauren. She's realized that she's messed up in pushing Larkhall and everyone in it out of her mind, and that includes Denny. She really wants to put that right and talk to her"  
"So you want me to get Denny to phone you so that Lauren could talk to her"  
"Something like that if you've got the time, Nikki." "I'll make time, Yvonne," Nikki's decisive tone answered Yvonne's polite reluctance to burden an already busy Nikki with this errand. "Ten minutes maximum, eh?"

"Look, Denny, don't let your pride get in the way. It's only natural for anyone on the outside to push any thought of prison right out of their mind. I did that when I got out. I'd been out a year and Helen and I kept out of everyone's way till Yvonne walked into my club. I felt a bit funny at the time the first time I saw her even though it was lovely to talk to her.So don't you be a dozy cow and you get to that phone and talk to her. Right"  
Perhaps it was the crack of authority in Nikki's voice or else the way that Nikki always was a leader but Denny walked to up to the phone without a murmur.

Yvonne had talked to Denny first briefly and Denny had accepted Lauren's sudden appearance back into her world with a mixture of bemusement and a measure of resentment until her resistance to Denny had crumbled away. She had promised to be with Yvonne next time they visit. It would piss off Bodybag a treat, wouldn't it? She could hear Denny laugh briefly just before she heard the pips, which announced that the phone card was about to run out. They gabbled their goodbyes and Lauren put the phone down.

Denny replaced the phone on the stand and her confusion showed up like a beacon for all to see, the way her brows were knitted together. It's nice to hear Lauren, her sort of sister, come back and take notice of her but hadn't she been desperately trying to get in contact with Shell. She could hardly tell Lauren that one, couldn't she?  
"That's done,"Lauren said, her face glowing with satisfaction.  
"Getting your life sorted out, Lauren. It works, doesn't it?" Yvonne grinned.  
That self-assured expression on Lauren's face was ample answer. It remained on her face for precisely a couple of seconds until she glanced at the clock.  
"Shit, I've got to see Meg in half an hour"  
"But what about your makeup"  
"Which matters most, the way I look or missing my therapy?" Lauren cut back.  
Yvonne shrugged her shoulders as Lauren went against the basic instinct of the Atkins woman. There was no answer, was there? 


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: Betaed by Jen and Hunca Munca. 

Part Thirty-Five

It was the night of Halloween, and after having spent the last ten days in a state of intense happiness and relief, it occurred to John that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Karen since they'd returned from the conference. He knew this had probably been a sensible course of action, to allow them both time to recover from what had happened between them, but he found that he was missing her, missing her friendship and her common sense. He knew that George had seen her a couple of times over the last few weeks, and she would have said if there had been anything wrong with Karen, but he was now beginning to think it was time he found this out for himself. He needed that reassurance that she was still surviving, still coping with everything that had happened to her. It was only three months since her son had died, and John was far too aware that Karen had barely talked to anyone about how she was feeling. 

If Karen had been compelled to tell the truth, she couldn't possibly have said she was doing well. In fact she could hardly have suggested that she was even doing vaguely okay. All the fears she'd had after cutting that first time had been realised. She just couldn't help it, she tried to rationalise with herself. It seemed to be the only thing that would enable her to release her emotions, to undo the constricting knot of panic that would take her over whenever she thought about Ross. She loathed herself for doing it, for giving into something quite so despicable. It had become almost easy to bring her own blood to the surface, to feel the physical pain it caused, as this would temporarily drive out the emotional pain, leaving her empty, quiet, and for a brief time relieved. She knew that what she was doing to herself was wrong, but she was almost powerless to give it up. 

When her doorbell rang on the Monday night, Karen at first thought it must be "Trick or treaters," given what day it was. But on opening the door, she received something of a shock to see John standing on her doorstep. She hadn't seen him since the conference, and this in itself had been something of a mixed blessing. She knew she had needed a break from John, but in truth she could also have done with his company. "John," She said, opening the door wider to let him in. "This is a nice surprise." "I thought it was about time I made contact with you again," He told her a little warily, coming into the hall, and carefully scrutinising her. She looked paler, thinner, and extremely tired. When they reached the sitting room, John put a hand on her shoulder and examined her more closely, not missing the slight tensing as he touched her. "You look as though you've been working too hard," He said diplomatically. "You mean I look knackered, worn out, and generally not as attractive as usual," She corrected him dryly. "Erm, possibly," He admitted with a slight smile. "Are you all right?" Just for a moment, her expression wavered, briefly revealing how unhinged she really felt. It was such a tempting thought, to be held in those strong arms again, just as a friend, just as he used to occasionally hold her before she ruined everything. She couldn't seem to find anything to say to him, the need to tell him what she'd been doing to herself being ridiculously strong. Seeing her hesitation, and realising that she would probably be a little wary of needing such an advance from him, John gently put his arms round her, feeling the tremor run through her as she desperately strove to maintain her control. "I've missed you," She said unsteadily, her face against his shoulder. "I know," He replied quietly, his hand moving soothingly in the centre of her back. "I've missed you too." 

Suddenly realising just what she was doing, Karen moved hurriedly away from him. "I'm sorry," She said, trying to gather her shattered senses together. "I shouldn't be doing this." "We've still got some talking to do, haven't we," John said ruefully, wanting to put her at her ease. "Probably," She admitted sheepishly. "Would you like a drink?" "A scotch wouldn't go amiss," He said, sitting down at one end of the sofa. When she handed him his glass, but didn't fill one for herself, he raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm avoiding alcohol for the time being," She told him evasively, pouring herself a glass of orange juice, and remembering all too clearly the last time she'd partaken of her favourite scotch, on the day she'd started cutting. "Karen," He began carefully, making no comment on her temporary abstinence. "Are you still feeling guilty about what happened at the conference?" "A little," She told him regretfully. "We both know that I slept with you, because I was definitely on a sexual collision course after finishing with George, and because I badly needed the distraction. You slept with me, because you could see that was what I needed." "It wasn't just because of that," John told her with a lopsided smile. "You are incredibly attractive, and that weekend simply gave me the excuse to bring something to a head, something that I think we'd been building up to for a while." "That's the point though, isn't it," Karen told him bitterly. "We shouldn't have been building up to anything, neither of us should, because we both know an awful lot better. John, I need you as a friend, at the moment I need your friendship more than just about anything else, but I don't trust myself not to need more than you can give me." John watched her in slightly stunned silence. He'd had absolutely no idea that her feelings for him ran so deep, but he thought in retrospect that it probably made sense. She had been cut asunder by George at precisely the wrong time, and now she simply craved that stability of having someone for herself. "You don't need to look quite so uncomfortable," Karen assured him with a slight smile. "Just because I'm going through a midlife crisis, doesn't mean I intend to pursue any feelings I might have for anyone." "It's not wrong to feel like this," He promised her gently. "In fact it's perfectly understandable. Do you remember what I said to you, the night you got drunk? I told you not to be afraid of needing someone." "That was before I ruined it, by making you feel as though you'd raped me," Karen replied, her voice full of self-recrimination. "Karen, you have not, I repeat not, ruined our friendship," He insisted vehemently, laying a hand on her left arm to emphasise his point. "Would I really be here if you had?" "I suppose not," She admitted grudgingly. "John, I feel as though I don't really deserve you to be here." "Well, take it from me that you do," He told her gently but firmly, moving closer to her and putting his arms round her. "This is because you're my friend, and I want to help you," He said into her hair. "Not because I'm trying to sleep with you." "Oh, that's good," She said with a mirthless little laugh. "Because I doubt I could come up with the goods even for you at the moment." 

"Why so depressed?" He asked her after a short silence. "Or is that a particularly stupid question?" "It's complicated," She told him evasively. "So tell me," He prompted gently, running his hand up and down her left arm. She only just managed to stifle her gasp of pain, as his hand rubbed over the thin dressing that covered her latest wounds. But John didn't miss her flinch. "What?" He asked, unsure as to what he'd done. But as his hand rested on her arm, he became gradually aware of something different, something that shouldn't be there. As he moved to undo her cuff and role up her sleeve, she stopped him. "Don't, John, please." "Why?" He asked, slightly mystified by her behaviour. "Because I don't want you to be angry with me," She told him quietly, not meeting his gaze. "And why would I be angry if I looked at your arm?" He asked, a terrible, nagging suspicion crawling up his spine. Wholly unable to think of a satisfactory reply, Karen simply stared at the sideboard across the room from them. Observing her obvious discomfort, John continued in his endeavour to see what she was talking about. Drawing back her sleeve, he stared in total horror at the barely heeled scars adorning her skin, together with the small, white dressing that clearly covered something more recent. She watched as the fleeting expressions of bewilderment, anger, disbelief and pain flitted across his face. She could feel her skin crawling with the need to cover it up, the need to wipe all hints of it from his memory. He held her hand in his, gently chafing it as he stared at what she'd done. Putting out a finger, he delicately traced one of the older scars, feeling the ridge of uneven tissue where there ought to have been perfectly smooth skin. Rolling her sleeve back down, he refastene the cuff, and got up from his seat. He paced round the room, needing a little time to think. He absent-mindedly refilled his glass from the bottle of scotch on the sideboard. Stopping by the coffee table, he picked up her packet of cigarettes, regarding it thoughtfully. Karen had been watching him in silence until then, but this brought an exclamation of amazement from her. "Now I know I've shocked you," She said dryly, as he withdrew a cigarette and lit it with her lighter. Taking an experimental drag, he screwed up his face in disgust. "Give it here," Karen told him, resisting the urge to laugh at his discomfort. Handing her the cigarette, he sat back down on the sofa. "It must be thirty-five years since I had a cigarette," He told her thoughtfully. Then, seeming to remember why he'd lit up in the first place, his attention returned to Karen. "What made you start doing this?" "It's a bit hard to explain," She said, taking a long drag of the cigarette. "I'm not going anywhere," He told her, determined to get some answers. "The first time I did it, was the day of Henry's funeral. It wasn't a conscious decision, but I felt as though I was suffocating, when I'd returned from dropping Barbara and Nikki back at the prison. I think I was hyperventilating, but instead of looking for anything resembling a paper bag, just like any sensible ex-nurse ought to have done, I poured an enormous glass of scotch, as though that could sort out all my problems. My hands were shaking and I dropped the glass. John, I really didn't decide to do this, it just felt right, something I did almost automatically." "What were you thinking when you did it?" John asked, her assertion worrying him greatly. "I kept thinking of that day when I went to the clinic, when I saw his body, when I saw what he'd done to himself. John, letting out some of that pain, it allowed me to cry, something I'd been finding virtually impossible for fear that I wouldn't be able to stop. Doing that, it made the pain physical rather than emotional, and just for a little while, it leaves me feeling entirely empty, which really is a blessed relief sometimes. I do know that I can't keep doing it, and I'm certainly not stupid enough to think that it's a perfectly decent way of dealing with everything I feel, but for now, it's the only way I can get through it." "You're beginning to sound just like George," John told her, the fear far too evident in his voice. "That's what she said, when I discovered what she was doing after Charlie was born. She told me that it was her way of coping, her way of keeping some sense of sanity in her life. Karen, cutting yourself, it's just as self-destructive as anorexia or alcoholism." "I know," She told him regretfully. "And I will come out of it eventually, but you need to give me time to do that." 

When he left some time later, he put his arms round her, briefly holding her tightly to him, betraying the distinct need he had to protect her. "I keep feeling that I really shouldn't be leaving you on your own," He admitted ruefully, softly kissing her cheek. "John, I might currently be living right on the edge of things," She said into his shoulder. "But I'm not about to do what Ross did, because even as miserable as I feel now, I know what it would do to far too many people, you and George included. So please, try not to lose too much sleep over it." "How can you be so matter-of-fact about it?" He asked in sheer wonder. "Because I can finally understand what drives people like Denny, and Buki, and god knows how many others to do it," She replied philosophically. "Physical pain is something they can understand, and possibly because I spent some years of my life trying to cure it, I can understand it too. Emotional pain requires far too much self-exploration, a type of solo therapy that I don't think I've got the courage to face." Oh, the irony of it, John thought to himself as he slowly drove away. He seemed to think he had the courage to face therapy from someone else, yet Karen didn't have it to brave an internal dialogue with herself. How peculiar the world really was. 


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: Betaed by Jen and Hunca Munca. 

Part Thirty-Six

John spent most of Tuesday thinking about Karen when he wasn't in court, causing Coope to ask him more than once whether he was all right. He gave her any amount of evasive answers, but always his thoughts returned to the night before, when he'd uncovered those terrible scars, that showed just how much emotional pain she was really in. He couldn't believe she'd done that to herself, actually taken some razor-sharp edge to her beautiful skin, and carved patterns into her flesh like some macabre type of art. But when the time eventually came for him to drive to the clinic for his next appointment with Helen, John almost thought that this time, it might actually do him good. He needed to talk about Karen, because he needed a sounding board to try to organise his own feelings on what she had done. 

"You look very on edge this week," Helen said as she closed the door of the consulting room behind them. "I am," He replied dismally, sinking gratefully into a chair. "Is this because of what we talked about last time, or something else?" "I need to talk about something that almost certainly isn't on your agenda," He told her, wondering how she would feel to digressing this once. "I don't really have a strict agenda as such, Judge," She told him, sitting down in a chair opposite. "I just go with the responses you give me, or more likely the lack of them. What's happened?" "I suspect this is going to be as much of a shock to you as it was to me, in fact I probably oughtn't to be telling you at all. I went to see Karen last night, because I hadn't seen her for a while, and I naturally wanted to see how she was doing." "You hadn't seen her since you slept with her at the conference, had you?" Helen astonished him by saying. "How do you know I did?" John asked with a slight laugh. "I'm not stupid, Judge," Helen told him firmly. "I've got eyes, and so has Nikki." "All right, no, I hadn't seen her since the conference. I think we managed to clear the air about that, which was definitely something we needed to do. Helen, I, erm, I discovered that she's started harming herself." "Oh, no!" Helen exclaimed, sounding genuinely distressed. "How long has she been doing it?" "Since Henry's funeral. At least that's what she told me. I think she's been cutting her arm on a regular basis ever since." "What was your initial thought, when you saw what she'd done?" Helen asked him, realising that he might be tempted to use this to draw her attention away from him and onto someone else. "Horror, disbelief, anger, you name it," John told her ruefully. "I didn't want to believe what I was seeing. Karen is a very attractive woman, and it hurts me terribly that she could do something so horrific to herself." "Judge, can I make a tentative suggestion?" "This must be bad if you're asking my permission," John replied dryly. "You decided to start coming to see me, exactly one week after we came back from that conference. You have also so far avoided telling me precisely why you made that decision. Am I so far off the mark, as to be wrong, if I suggest that whatever happened between you and Karen, was what prompted you to seek therapy again?" John regarded her thoughtfully. He ought to have known that she would work this out eventually, but that didn't mean he wanted to reveal all to her by any means. 

"You are half right," He admitted eventually. "Though not entirely. Sleeping with Karen, brought quite another problem into being, and it was that which prompted me to come and see you." "Stop talking in riddles, Judge," Helen admonished him gently. "Start by telling me what was so catastrophic about sleeping with Karen." John looked extremely uncomfortable. If there was one thing he really didn't want to do, that was to tell Helen either what had happened with Karen, or what that had caused to happen with him. "It won't be anything I haven't heard before, you know," Helen told him with a slight smile, seeing that this was something he wasn't remotely eager to discuss. "This isn't something I want to tell you," John said evasively, wanting to buy himself as much time as possible. "I can see that," Helen replied encouragingly. "Tell me why you don't want to talk about it." "I am, somewhat ashamed of it," He said regretfully, refusing to meet her eyes. "That's often part of what therapy is all about," She told him matter-of-factly. "Coming to terms with things that you wish you hadn't done. So, try thinking of yourself as being at confession for once." Helen didn't know where this simile had come from, but she knew it to be the correct one in this man's case. "That last night at the conference, I pursued Karen out onto the balcony, because I could see she was clearly looking for some company. I don't think I'd ever forgotten what it had been like to sleep with Karen that first time, almost two years before." "Yeah, she did tell me about that at the time," Helen put in. "Women really do talk about everything under the sun, don't they," John replied resignedly. "Pretty much, yeah," Helen agreed with a smile. "She, erm, she wanted me to be rough with her," John said quietly, his skin crawling with the fact that he'd actually agreed to it and gone through with it. "She said that she didn't want to have any time to think, because if she did, she knew she wouldn't enjoy it. I, very stupidly, thought I knew precisely what that entailed, but I didn't. I had absolutely no idea just how much I would come to loathe myself for doing it. I've never felt anything quite so incredible, but when I saw what I'd done to her, it terrified me." John had got into his stride by this time, and he seemed wholly unable to stop, as though this confession had been burning to escape from him for quite some time. "She was covered in bruises, bruises that I swear I hadn't meant to give her. Never, in the last forty years of sleeping with women have I ever been remotely violent towards anyone. I felt..." He stopped, not entirely sure how to explain it. "I felt very similar to Fenner." Helen's eyes widened at this, and she stared at him in utter disbelief. "Don't forget, I know only too well what Fenner was like," Helen told him firmly. "So I doubt very much that you would ever do what he did to anyone. I can't say that with absolute certainty, because I don't know you in that way." "Karen told me that I shouldn't feel like that," He said a little sheepishly. "But I couldn't help it." "And she knows more about Fenner's behaviour than the rest of us," Helen said sympathetically. "So if she doesn't think you raped her, you can rest assured that you didn't. That's what terrified you, wasn't it, Judge." Her use of the title Judge, combined with the possibility of such a crime, hit him in quick succession. When he seemed unable to answer, she said, "What made you feel that that's what you'd done to her?" "I... I couldn't have stopped, even if she'd begged me to stop. It was as though my body had completely taken over." "So, it was the loss of that iron hard control you're so fond of that frightened you." "Yes, something like that," He replied. "I couldn't understand why I'd both loathed and enjoyed it. Karen tried to convince me that it wasn't wrong to have enjoyed it, but part of me still couldn't accept what I'd allowed my body to do." 

"Control means an awful lot to you, doesn't it, Judge." "Control of my feelings, certainly," He agreed with her. "It's a necessary part of my job, to keep any feelings I might have with regards to a case, well and truly under wraps. Emotions do not belong in a court room, at least not on the part of the judge." "Why do you think that is?" "Because if the judge had any feelings either way on a case, he or she would be bound to act accordingly when it came to sentencing," John told her, as if that should have been obvious. "Don't give me some law textbook reason for it," Helen said with a smile. "Tell me what it means to you." "If I allowed myself to become emotionally involved with a case," John said slowly, as though he hadn't previously considered this so thoroughly. "I would probably ask even more questions than I already do, driving every barrister in the vicinity to absolute distraction, which I'm told I often accomplish without even trying. But I know that if I began to care too much about the victims, or the defendants, I wouldn't be able to leave the case behind, when it was time to move onto something else. Some time last year, there was a case involving a prostitute who had witnessed someone being murdered. Jo virtually begged me to allow the witness to give evidence via a video link to preserve her anonymity, but I refused, saying that I wasn't willing to go back on my principle of holding a thoroughly open and honest trial. The night after this witness gave evidence against the three men in the dock, she was killed. I felt almost unbearably guilty. She had died, purely and simply because I had made the wrong decision. Jo was so angry with me, because she'd done everything possible to urge me to allow this witness to remain anonymous. If I had done, if I had listened to Jo and just for once abandoned one of my principles, she wouldn't have been killed." "How did you eventually get past that?" Helen asked gently, seeing that this had greatly affected John when it had happened. "Threw myself into another case, tried desperately to convince myself that even though she was dead, justice still prevailed. But I questioned every decision I made after that for quite some time." 

Heartily wishing for a cigarette, Helen finally brought out a theory that had been nagging at her for a while. "What you said, about not getting too emotionally involved with a case, because you won't be able to leave it behind you, that's also how you think about women, isn't it." "Erm, yes, I suppose so," John admitted grudgingly, never having had his attitude to women spelt out quite so starkly. "I can't afford to become attached to any random fling I might pick up, because if I did, I'd never be able to move on and forget them. Jo and George are the only two women I am prepared to be in effect emotionally bound to, yet I can't help occasionally finding the chase and the seduction of a perfect stranger, far too tempting." "What is it about picking up a stranger that makes you unable to stop doing it?" Helen asked. "Women deserve nothing less than to be expertly and sensitively handled," John said almost reverently. "Any woman who catches my attention, is to some extent, asking for the best of anything I can give her. That makes me feel incredibly privileged, that I have the opportunity to make a woman writhe in total ecstasy if at all possible." "You mean it gives your ego an enormous boost to give a woman pleasure," Helen said for him. "Yes," He said with a smile. "It's interesting," Helen said slowly. "Because the way you speak about women, is the way I would also expect you to speak about the attention you give to a case. Both cases and women deserve to be expertly and sensitively handled, and they both deserve the absolute maximum of your attention. Do you have any idea why you think like that about two very different things?" "None whatsoever," John said blandly, not altogether sure whether or not he liked this comparison. "Do something for me," Helen said on a whim. "Think about that for next time." Agreeing that he would, John eventually left, feeling slightly less unhinged than he had on the previous two occasions, though knowing this was because she hadn't actually stumbled on precisely why he had sought therapy from her in the first place. He dreaded the day when she would drag that out of him, because he wasn't stupid enough to think she wouldn't. He couldn't help thinking that Helen Wade was really far too astute for her own good. 


	37. Chapter 37

Part Thirty-Seven

John had intercepted both Jo and George as they were chatting together in the grand foyer of the Old Bailey. He was a bit hesitant in making his request but eventually, as he drew close, they both saw him out of the corners of their eyes and turned their heads in his direction. He blurted out the first words that came off the top of his mind in an unusually gauche fashion.

"I would be grateful if you could help me with some shopping"  
George gave John a severe look and addressed him sternly. "Are you seriously telling me that you are acting the helpless man at your time of life and wanting us to plod round the supermarket and that your keen incisive mind cannot distinguish between one wretched make of baked beans and another and that women have that superior mystical facility"  
"No no, nothing like that"  
Jo and George exchanged puzzled glances, John had been pretty self-sufficient so why, after all these years did he want their help?  
"You had better spit it out, John"  
"Oh, hello, Neumann," George turned her head, smiling glassily and waving at the man. "See you in court tomorrow. May the best woman win"  
Neumann Mason-Alan had the ill luck to cross swords with her on a court case. Everyone had their good days and others when their grip was more uncertain. He observed gloomily to himself that George was in scintillating form and she had tripped him up continually while he had stumbled through his cross examination of the accused.  
John looked a little sheepish in view of the other barristers who flitted past, their heels clicking sharp sounds on the chequerboard flagstones.  
'I could really do with some help in choosing a bed for my new flat. I want to make sure it is up to the task," He murmured under his breath.  
A lascivious smile spread across George's face and Jo grinned likewise. Perhaps they had a vested interest in the matter after all.  
"Oh, why didn't you explain, John?" They chorused. "Oh well, we'd better get going."

Presently, they arrived at the furniture shop of their choice. The very fastidious salesman raised his eyebrows as another customer or possibly three entered his shop. He was very proud of the expensively priced superior range that he sold. Let the run of the mill tat be sold by the supermarket chains. He studied the body language of the middle-aged man and two attractive women. They were smartly and properly dressed and had that air of money about them. They appeared to know each other and there were possibly two beds if not three that could be sold.  
"Can I help you, sir?" he smarmed in his best style.  
"Could I have a look round first?" he said politely in a definitely posh voice. "Perhaps you two ladies could do with some assistance?" he probed.  
The taller of the two women drew level with the man "Oh we're fine, we're..we're just helping him out"  
The man was very inquisitive and nosy. He wanted to know everything about everyone else's lives and this irritating woman had blocked him off.  
"Take all the time you want. If you want any help. Pray ask me."

Fortunately, a few customers were starting to come into the shop and he devoted his attentions to them instead although he kept a sharp eye on the trio who had moved to the end of his shop.  
John ran an eye over the standard sized double beds and ruled them out straightaway.  
"These definitely won't do," Agreed George.  
A young couple entered the shop next, the woman proudly displaying a glistening engagement ring but, as yet, no wedding ring. They were so obviously in love and only had eyes for themselves.  
John's restless eye looked at the corner of the shop just as the traditional middle aged married couple started to move away from it. To the woman's practiced eye, it would take up too much space to allow the bedside corner tables to fit in properly. She propelled him away just in time for John to gaze at it and feel the springiness of it. It looked as if it would suit his purposes just right.  
"It is the right size, John." Jo commented, visually comparing it with her own double bed.  
While the assistant was selling his smiles by the minute to the middle aged couple, he deduced that the taller woman and the man must be married or something. John grinned expansively in his totally show off fashion, blithely ignoring the assistant and the assorted people who were coming into the shop and pretending not to look at the three of them. He had an irresistible impulse to act in the way that impulse prompted him. He sat on the bed, basking in the comfort "Take that look off your face, John. I know very well what you are thinking," hissed George in the most conspicuous stage whisper imaginable for all the shop to hear.  
John bounced gently on the bed, just imagining what sexual acrobatics he, Jo and George might perform and calculating just how much space that it allowed the two women without falling off either side of the bed. It looked as if the bed fitted his specifications exactly and he was possessed by that craving to possess this bed before anyone else could get there first. Jo sighed inwardly at the tell tale glitter in his eye which revealed his feelings naked before her even if the rest of the shop was oblivious to it.  
"The bed looks ideal, doesn't it?" John teased.  
"The rest of the shop are looking at us," George whispered to him, though a part of her was making similar calculations.  
"If you're happy with the choice, you'd better snap it up. If I might say, I think you've made the right choice," Jo observed judiciously, with a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.  
"Do you think we ought to look at some of the other beds? I mean, you don't settle for the first thing you see. There might be better beds elsewhere"  
John groaned inwardly. This was a distinctly female touch that threatened to take over and that was to be dissatisfied with the shop altogether, try every bedding shop in town, finally conclude that this bed was the best choice and bemoan their fates and apportion blame for the mischance everywhere but themselves. When he said 'help him choose a bed' he meant encourage him to buy the first bed he liked. Whatever on earth did they think otherwise?  
"I'm sure that this shop will satisfy our needs," John said firmly and decisively and one split second later, regret his words as he had given the game away. George averted her head, grinning at John's obvious slip up.  
A potential sale in the offing. These three aren't window shoppers after all, only bent on window shopping, fantasizing and departing, exclaiming that he had a wonderful selection of beds, promising to come back next day when they had made up their minds and never hearing from them again. John made his way back to the assistant and caught his attention while Jo and George tried to look inconspicuous and fade into the background.  
"I think I'll take that bed. It is admirably suited," He exclaimed, trying to look as if he was the only one whose needs should be satisfied. He did the necessary paperwork while the nosier shoppers readjusted their guesses as to the relationships between the three, if any. It was not until they strolled out of the shop, obviously happy and excited that the assistant began to bridge the speculative gap between situation and conclusion.

It was a few days later, on Saturday that John was able to say farewell to the digs, which had served him comfortably. He would miss the pleasant, old-fashioned surroundings but concluded that it was time to move on. After all, he had been that sort of 'moving on' man all through his life, from when he first left home to go to boarding school and in his very complex relationships.  
He had selected a flat in the exclusive Holland Park area of London, just outside the more down market, cosmopolitan Shepherd's Bush. It was the entire first floor of a large white painted Georgian block that ran the length of the street and curved slightly in line with the road. It was very tall, from the ground floor basement with five floors altogether and a communal back garden. What attracted him was both the sweeping balcony and the flight of steps, which led proudly up from the wide tree lined street and up to the large, black imposing front door. One look and a quick tour round the half furnished flat convinced him that the flat was his especially as, best of all, it would accept dogs. It should be his. It was his by right of rental agreement once he had shot out and cemented the deal.

He had had a harassing Friday evening and early Saturday morning boxing up all his possessions ready for the removal van. His beloved Strad and his CD collection would travel in the back of his car. He said his formal goodbyes to the other members of the judiciary who had visions of peace and tranquility returning to the dignity of their calling. He was off on the open road, well another part of London anyway.

He pulled his car up behind the van to go in and handle the directions as to where the furniture would go. Once in the flat, he was struck how large and spacious it was. The ceilings seemed to be about twelve feet off the ground in pristine white. The front hall was a worthy prelude to the other rooms. The spacious front living room, bare of furniture opened out to the wide balcony, which had struck him before when he had visited it. It had an elevated position to take in the whole sweep of the elegantly uniform street whose perspective was entirely different from the pygmy perspective from the street. It would soon be filled by his large bureau desk by the window, his bookcases, along the walls, elegant settee in the center of the room and soft lights. This would be the antechamber, both in time and place, for his bedroom in which, pride of place was the king-size bed. His spirits rose when he contemplated the ardent nights of sexual passion that would be in store for him, unencumbered by any prying eyes of agents of the LCD.

The removal men were relieved that the posh bloke was polite and considerate and gave clear instructions where to set the furniture. None of this fussy hectoring demands to put the settee down exactly so as sometimes they had the ill luck to be saddled with. In no time at all, everything was in place and they were able to shift off back to the depot.

With enormous satisfaction, John got his prized books out of the boxes and arranged them on the shelves and likewise, the CD's, plugged in his computer and got the front room to his satisfaction. He turned his attention next to the kitchen behind the bedroom with the large oak table in the center of the room and all the appliances which he was at home with. A mug had been left out on the units by the last tenant, which he filled, to the brim with water. It had been an energetic day and it was most refreshing. In the corner of the house, a small bedroom housed a single bed. It would be a spare room in case Charlie wanted to stop over. Even though she was at university, there must be a place for her as of right should she want it. It had ever been that way from after he and George split up and, in another flat, there was another Charlie's room. Finally, there was his large bedroom and the tasteful furnishings were the perfect expression of his own tastes in every respect. The flat was there to be filled with by the presence of his forceful, many-sided personality and the local pub round the corner, a valuable center of a social life.

As he sat back in contemplation, a flood of memories surged back. He remembered how he had been plucked out of Birmingham and had gone to boarding school when he was little. That was no life for anyone who wanted their own space where everything intruded, nothing was private and the echoing chorus of other voices was all around him in the dormitory, which was his very tenuous home. He had learnt to speak a foreign language, a languid self assured tones, that of the class that was born to both rule the nation and also to serve it ,or so the Christian prayers repeatedly told him. Life was an upward move from one institution to another. Next, memories of the house he lived in with George flitted across like some ground mist and was gone like his marriage, then his previous flat where he had brought up Charlie, then the digs and finally, his very first place of his own at the somewhat belated age of mid fifties. Someday the restless rolling stone would come to rest but what peace and tranquility finally meant, he really was at a loss to know. 


	38. Chapter 38

Part Thirty-Eight 

It had always fallen to the Julies to take on responsibility for the little treats and comforts of prison life. Many years ago, one of their kinder gestures had been in smuggling in a plastic bag full of cigarettes and chocolates to where Nikki was banged up in segregation after the row over Carol Byatt's miscarriage. A regular one was in commemorating birthdays. Somehow, it was the two of them that remembered them and organized everything. Anyone else could have done it but it took their very special kindness, thoughtfulness and memories to do it. Somehow, it was an accepted feature of prison life to leave it to the Julies. When Nikki took over as wing governor, she needed no familiarization tour of G Wing to be briefed as to some of the idiosyncrasies of prison life. Some she knew to be as she remembered them. The rest, she learnt as she went along.

It was Monday, November 7th when the Julies were closeted in their cell. Julie Saunders was lazily twirling her favourite biro with the green plastic spiky decoration at the end. She was deep in thought wondering if she should write a letter to her David. The vision of him grew vague, the way she had last seen him at his school concert. How proud she was of him. He sounded like a real actor, dead posh, dead confident and that glow in his eyes. A wave of depression overtook her when she realized how long ago that was. He must be a man now and she was dead scared to think of that. What could she possibly write to him that would mean anything? A bitter thought struck her that if he could only intermittently appear in her thought like some dream, how could she think she had the right to think any more often of her? He had his life to live. He had done it for so many years by now, too many. It got her down and, what made it worse that even Julie didn't realize what she was thinking. She stared into space thinking for something to take away the pain of separation.

Nikki was getting increasingly worried about Karen. It was something in the way that she refused to look her in the eye. Anyone would think that she was trying to pry into her private life and this was the last thing she ever wanted to do, with anyone she was in any way close to. She had always known Karen as a strong, resilient reliant woman and also as the governing governor and one time experienced wing governor. When she had started her job, she had looked up to Karen despite her superb act of being perfectly in control. Only Karen had known just how much sheer nerve and inventiveness had got her through and that was because she'd been there. It was five months since she had started her job and she had become more relaxed in her exercise of authority. For these reasons, it disturbed her to see the way that Karen had steadily declined despite her outward show of command. It was nothing but years on the job that had enabled her to hold her own. At some of the wing governor's meetings she had chaired, it had been touch and go that she would manage to hold the reins of the meeting together. She came to a sudden decision as she finished off her last cigarette. She resolved to casually drop by for a chat and, depending on how the land lay, express her concerns to her more directly. It hardly crossed her mind that other, more experienced wing governors could talk to her. It might as well be her as anyone else so therefore it was up to her to act.

"Hi Nikki, I'm afraid that I haven't heard any more news about the increase in the budget allocation for your education projects," Karen said without Nikki having broached the question. "I thoroughly agree that we have an uphill job in drugs education for new inmates after the damage has been done but getting funding out of the Home Office is like trying to get blood out of a stone"  
"But it's obvious. Prevention is better than cure. Are those bureaucrats at the Home Office for real?" exploded Nikki in exasperation.  
"Nikki, Neil is one of those bureaucrats. He works bloody hard to fight our corner, don't you understand?" Karen retorted with an unusual degree of exasperation before the echoes of her own anger spoke back to her. She didn't want to admit it but a lot of her anger was directed at herself and she felt guilty at having taken it out on Nikki. The emotional scars felt all too real in the half healed cut lines underneath her white blouse, underneath her smart business suit. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have talked to you like that"  
"There's me opening my big gob again," Nikki answered lightly, trying to raise a smile out of Karen but, worryingly to her, without success. "I ought to have thought. I mean, I wouldn't care to have his job for all the tea in China." Karen gazed sightlessly without a response for a couple of minutes while Nikki hung back waiting for Karen to reply. She didn't want to crowd her but she felt that she was making the opposite mistake.  
"So, I'll hang fire about the funding till I hear from you, right?" Nikki asked brightly.  
"Sure," Karen replied vaguely, fuzzily after a distinct pause.  
"Karen, are you all right?" Nikki asked impulsively before adding softly and soothingly. "It's just that you really don't sound that well and as a friend, you know me well enough that I'd love to help out where I can." Karen's expression hardened momentarily as her pride was being challenged by Nikki's well-meaning words. The expression of soft concern was manifestly there in Nikki's large brown expressive eyes and she had to make some kind of gracious response, smiling nicely as she did. "There's nothing I can't deal with. If there's anything that needs dealing with, I've spent a lifetime having to cope with it myself but thank you for asking, Nikki"  
"Right, OK, I'll be on my way and let you have space to yourself."Nikki replied, nervously getting to her feet, her expressive hands moving restlessly. "See you around, Karen." "See you, Nikki." Came the automatic response. She immediately regretted Nikki's absence from her empty office a few seconds after she left. She craved isolation and separation but she also needed some emotional warmth. The story of her life, she reflected bitterly. The only positive thing she could point to was that the bottle of whisky on the shelf at the back of her had remained a quarter full for the past fortnight. A brutally honest voice within her told her that it was because she had been too emotionally numb to even reach for anything even alcoholically warming. 

"Hey, Ju. It's Babs's birthday. November the ninth. Four days after Fireworks night. I always remember it that way," Julie Saunders suddenly exclaimed, her mind in free association mode as she twirled her biro.  
"So what day's today?" Julie Johnson asked in a vague tone of voice.  
"The seventh." Julie Saunders muttered through gritted teeth. One day followed another in the nick but to her way of thinking that was no excuse.  
"Bloody hell, so it is." Came the quite unnecessary reply.  
"We got to do something for Babs, her being on her own for the first year since the vicar died. Do you think she would want a party?" The dawning light across their faces was the precursor to a full-blown scheme. The early morning knock on the door had woken Barbara up to just another day. It was her birthday tomorrow, she remembered gloomily and without enthusiasm. The last three or four years had seen real ups and downs in how happy a birthday could be from the best to the worst. These ranged from when she was in Larkhall last time around to the previous year when her dear Henry was alive. That had been a blissful event, safe and secure together in that cosy vicarage, complete with the neatly kept flowers and rose bushes. In the first flush of their love as two middle-aged romantics, they had a tendency to retreat into a magical world of their own. After a topsy turvy life of three marriages, it was no surprise that she had wanted to surrender to a deep, long lasting commitment where neither of them had held anything back except life itself. As those words crept into her waking thoughts, a trickle of tears ran down her face. She had been a devout Christian all her life but at times like these, God's purpose for her seemed deeply perplexing and cruel, if not perverse. She knew all the litanies about enduring suffering uncomplainingly and never giving up hope but first thing in the morning as the cold air cut through the bare cell and froze her breath on the air. The cell was so small and bare when compared with her bedroom in the vicarage. Alas, she would be fated to never returning to that paradise or that church. She would become a stranger to what had been once the centre of her world. At that moment, she silently prayed for deliverance, even just for that moment in time.

Deliverance came through the door in the form of the Julies. Barbara turned over in her narrow cramped bunk, a million miles away from her wide comfortable, homely double bed that she had shared with Henry. They both wore wide smiles in their faces.  
"Who's going to be the birthday girl, sorry woman, tomorrow?" they chorused.  
"I'm sorry, Julies, but my birthday is hardly something that I want to celebrate, more like something to mourn. Henry for instance." She replied stiffly. She couldn't be angry with them as they meant so well. They both had hearts of gold but her spirits refused to respond to their good intentions.  
"Oh don't be like that, Babs.We know how you're missing your Henry but you're a Christian, like, ain't you?" Julie Johnson's soft voice coaxed persuasively.  
"So what of it"  
"Don't the Bible say something about counting your blessings and that Jesus was all positive, something about looking on the bright side of life"  
"That was 'Life of Brian' not the bleeding Bible," Julie Saunders whispered out of the side of her mouth, accompanied by an elbow in the ribs, at the theological inaccuracies.  
"Oh, well he ought to have said it," Came Julie Johnson's best dizzy blonde response.  
There was something inimitable in the delightful absurdity of the Julies inimitable double act that made Barbara start to grin slightly, despite the way that the determination of her depression tried to hold her back. They were right too, in their fashion. If their views had been heard in theological college, they would have raised a few eyebrows from most earnest students, all except her dear Henry. She felt him smiling down on them all. He would have understood.  
"You've got something in mind, haven't you"  
What showed vividly in her facial expression was Julie Saunders wariness in wondering whether or not their brilliant idea would go down in the cold light of day. She paused before eventually replying and crossing fingers behind for luck behind her back.

"Quick, Ju, into Miss Betts' office while it's quiet. She's off down the wing"  
Their sharp eyes had observed the pattern of Karen's daily movements and knew them like clockwork, better than she did. As a result, the two of them, complete with their convenient alibis of buckets and mops, sneaked inside. They looked desperately round at the room. It looked far too large with too many drawers, cupboards until their eyes spotted the bottle. Not too much left, they thought, so she wouldn't miss it.  
"Nick it fast and leg it"  
Julie Johnson stuffed it into a bag and they shot out the door before they could be spotted. So far, so good.

"You're right, Nikki," Karen admitted as they went back to her office. "I've let everything slide a bit. I wouldn't admit it earlier as I didn't want to face it but I've got to face the future some time"  
What Karen had in mind was her job. That was something to which she could discipline her mind and escape into that conveniently large part of her waking life. Nikki was not to know the special restricted meaning of her words and was overjoyed at thinking that Karen had turned the corner at last.  
"We ought to have a quick drink to that"  
"I've still got the dregs of a bottle of whisky which I haven't touched," She answered as she half turned her head. Nikki looked on, slightly puzzled at the shelf which contained nothing but dusty volumes. "At least, I did have it"  
"Isn't it Barbara's birthday?"Nikki questioned from out of the blue in a totally unrelated fashion. The little desk calendar had helpfully spelled out the date for her and the stray memory shot into her mind.  
"Do you think we ought to visit Barbara to wish her a happy birthday? Where will she be right now?" It was the first time for a long time that Nikki had seen a faint amused smile at the corner of Karen's lips. It lit up her whole face, in contrast to the anxious strained woman who Nikki had worried over.  
"The Julies cell. Where else?"

It was that mellow, comfortable part of the evening before lockup. The Julies had tipped off Denny and Tina and the five of them made a nice family type get together. They had already presented her with one of their very stylized birthday cards, which cheered Barbara up with the lovely thoughts expressed. "And seeing as this day is real special, we've got a nice little treat. Fill up your mugs, girls"  
They giggled freely with that atmosphere of a midnight feast in a girl's boarding school. The spirits went straight to their heads and everything was seen in a warm, generous glow as the drink loosened their tongues. Barbara peered benevolently at the world through and sometimes over her trademark black rimmed glasses. She was happy for the present. Suddenly, the official tread could be heard by the Julies' sharp ears.  
"Quick. Hide the booze." Came Julie Saunders' voice of command.  
Denny grabbed the bottle, twisted the cap on tight and stuffed it under the topmost bunk bed just before Nikki and Karen put their heads round the door.  
"We thought we'd come by and wish Barbara a happy birthday"  
"Yeah, right miss"  
"You're welcome, man"  
Denny's unmistakable greeting capped Julie Saunders uncertain response. To her alcohol-relaxed mind, Nikki and Karen were just two more women dropping in for the party. Why else were they there if they hadn't dropped in for that reason? Stands to reason. They're both cool.

Nikki's sharp eyes took in the greater amount of frivolity than normal and it gave her a most peculiar sort of twisted déjà vu feeling. It was only a few years ago that they were all here plus Crystal and Zandra and they were toasting Zandra out of some smuggled in miniature bottles of spirits. Dockley was here as well but that cow was just mouthing off, shit stirring it between Barbara and everyone else. Nikki blocked off that little ploy, then Barbara and Zandra finished off by telling her to piss off, that she wasn't welcome. It was just then that one of the friendlier screws popped his head round the door and asked what was going on while they played it all innocent. She saw Dominic's intent gaze flick past where that tart Dockley had stashed one of those miniatures that the most obvious place imaginable. With intense relief, she heard him give them 'one hour max.' for the rest of the party. It restored her faith that Helen wasn't the only good screw around. She blinked her eyes, which dispersed the nostalgic mists, which clouded her sight. She was the Wing Governor now. She wore the smart suit and not her usual T-shirt and jeans. It was obvious to her what she should do and say and not as the case may be.  
"It feels like old times round here. I've fond memories of this room and some things don't change, not really." Nikki's soft tones reflected all the warmth of her personality, the way she wore her heart on her sleeve. All the other prisoners were carried back in time and remembered. Karen looked on. She wished she could let her feelings flow out of her so naturally as Nikki did.  
" We're really glad that you're enjoying yourself, Barbara and you've got good friends to celebrate your birthday with," Karen added. They chatted awhile, Nikki and Karen standing straight as they were comfortably sprawled around on the beds. There was a difference between them but all of them could push that to the back of their consciousness.  
"Well, Nikki and I have got to be going but enjoy yourselves on us"  
Denny nearly spat out a little of her spirits in her mouth. Karen spoke truer words than she knew, or did she?

"Think they noticed the booze?" Tina asked. She thought that they hadn't sounded too pissed, just happy.  
"Course they noticed it. What do you think?" Denny retorted. Tina was dead nice but sometime she could be a bit backward. "Come on. Who's for a refill?" she asked, making a grab for the bottle. A row of grinning faces was enough answer and lockup was a drink or two away.

"Well, I did think I ought to cut down on my drinking. Couldn't say the same about smoking or my life would be one big misery." "Don't even think about that one." Shuddered Nikki with real feeling.  
"They'll enjoy Barbara's birthday with my present which I didn't know I was going to give"  
"It's all happened for the best. I suppose it could be worse." "It was once, in a mildly outrageous way. To celebrate my promotion, the Julies got Gina and I stoned on hash cookies. Very interesting sensations, I must admit"  
Karen had answered Nikki's vague philosophising in her best deadpan manner for best dramatic effect.  
"They did?"Nikki asked rhetorically and unnecessarily as her face split from ear to ear in a huge grin. "Come on, Karen. Tell me all. What else have you been holding out on me"  
"Well, it happened this way…."began Karen in best storytelling mode. Telling this story would cheer Nikki up and possibly herself, at a pinch. 


	39. Chapter 39

Part Thirty-Nine

Nikki had just signed off and slid her last file into her out tray when the self confident tread of approaching footsteps could be heard. Everyone had their own individual way of approaching her room, Nikki reflected, Di's oh so falsely polite double tap on the door, Dominic's firm controlled rap, Selena's formal single knock and, the exception, Gina's stride into her room a split second after her hasty token warning if she remembered.

This time, a thoughtful barely audible sound preceded Gina entering her room. She took her time to approach, clearly deep in thought and likewise, hesitated before speaking, totally unlike her normal brash style.

"The wing's fine, Nikki, if I watch out for that snake in the grass, Natalie Buxton, and don't give her any slack. You give her that and she'll wrap it round your neck and try to hang you with it," Began Gina in response to Nikki's polite greeting." Everything's straight down the line between us"  
"Meaning?' interjected a smiling Nikki.  
"She hates my guts and I hate hers. She knows I've got a nasty temper and she doesn't cross me"  
Gina's bluntness was refreshing to Nikki. It made her feel comfortable.  
"You've come for more than a social call though that's welcome enough."

Gina took the weight off her feet and stretched out comfortably in the chair opposite Nikki. She hesitated on how to express her thoughts till she resolved to cut out the shit and get to the point. Of all bosses, Nikki was very accommodating to her natural style.  
"I don't want to be nosy but do you know what's been getting Karen down? You can tell something's not right when you see her around and that's not as much as it used to be. I've been meaning to ask you for months now"  
Nikki sighed. She had become more preoccupied by the very same question.  
"My trouble, Gina is that there's a lot that I don't know. I can feel it in my bones"  
So Nikki thinks the same way as me, thought Gina with some small satisfaction. It was so like her not to waffle but to get right to the point.  
"Most of the other PO's will stick up for Karen as she's been around so long. They're worried and just want to know that she's taken care of. A couple of them will just love it. Problem is that they can go off on their own where nobody can catch up with them and land one on them"  
Gina didn't have to mention names. Di and Bodybag would make up any sort of malicious gossip and spread it all around and undermine her authority.  
"So is there anything you do know? If anyone's going to know what's going on, you will"  
Where does she begin to start on this one? How can she put it into words? Of course, the easy explanation, the tragedy of her son committing suicide made it harder to see anything outside that glaring spotlight of illumination and easy explanation? Worse still, she was struggling at the limits of her capacity for understanding, as maternal loss was something she could only gauge as an intellectual proposition, not feel deep within her. That made her insecure and uncertain. All she had was a few throwaway comments by Karen, which hit on an intuitive nerve but nothing with which she could untangle the facts.  
"I've talked to Karen a couple of times but she shuts me out. She's a great friend. She's fine when she's the one who's giving help but the world's worst at accepting it"  
"…she was a nurse once, Nikki." Cut in Gina who received a smile and nod in return.  
"I really don't know but there's something there beyond the obvious. If there's anything there, I'll find it. I just need time as I can't, I won't crowd her"  
Nikki's eyes were focused far into the distant horizon as she meditated on the problem before the tone of her voice became brisker, more definite.  
"……All we can do in the meantime is to back her up as best we can and just be there when she's ready. The only positive outcome was that she had told me that she knew that she had let things slide at work and she'll try and get better"  
"Just keep me posted, Nikki"  
"If I can, I will." 

By the time she entered the flat, Nikki's mind was still focused on Karen and rerunning past conversations with her and she was getting nowhere. Helen was there already and she immediately picked up on Nikki's somber mood. It didn't take a psychologist to spot this.  
"You look as if you've had a rough day, sweetheart." Helen called out to her from a distance before enfolding her in a warm embrace. She could feel the tension in Nikki's body. "I've had worse…I've just got a lot on my mind right now"  
The tough side of Nikki, which she reverted to, self protectively under pressure softened as Helen's questioning glance pierced through her. Living with Helen left no room for evasions let alone falsehoods even if she were so disposed. Helen's high intelligence and her profession kept that spotlight trained on her. It was just as well that Nikki found that hard clarity of illumination congenial to bathe in and both defined and centred her.  
"So what's been bothering you"  
"Karen," Nikki said shortly, having taken the weight off her feet. "I've been worrying about her and I can't get to the bottom of it"  
Helen's stomach lurched while on her face, her attempt at a reassuring smile was aimed mostly at Nikki but partly at herself. In a flash, she could see what was coming. She had always been fearful that her private life and her profession would become intermingled. She didn't feel safe and a feeling of blind panic started to well up inside her. She ran the tip of her tongue across her lower lip. An almost frightened look glinted in her eyes, which was not lost on Nikki, any more than the long silence.  
"Helen, you do know something about this, don't you"  
"Why should I know any more than you? You work with her and I don't"  
Nikki caught a sharp intake of breath. Fate was starting to place in her hands, the first building blocks out of the meaningless rubble. Helen had not been at her best the last week and, if her private life were excluded as a cause of this, then signposts pointed the answer at Helen's professional life with a clear straight pointed finger. "Somehow, I get the feeling that you've picked up something at your therapy sessions which holds the answer or at least some sort of a clue"  
Despite the slow almost stately delivery of her words, Nikki regretted what she had just said. She feared that that pressing concern for Karen had made her press Helen too hard. In her turn, the memory of Ross's death flashed into her mind and the echo of that impassioned diatribe which she had launched at John about bloody confidentiality.

'……….Do you realise, that if just once, either you or I had chosen to do what was morally right, rather than what was legally right, this might never have happened?…..Don't you feel any guilt, Judge?……..Don't you think that maybe this time, the law didn't know best? Because I can tell you that I sure as hell do…….This hiding things from her that she needs to know, ends whenever she begins to want answers, and that's not negotiable….'

Yes, she had said all that and had meant every word she has said. Helen found that living with Nikki meant that any double standards and hypocrisy in general utterly impossible as it would have totally compromised her. She had been professional and just look at the consequences. Just at the right time, Nikki gently laid her hands on Helen's shoulders.  
"Look, Helen, I know just what it means to have professional responsibility. I have a duty of care to both prisoners and prison officers and to be totally fair to each and every one of them. It's hardest when I've known them before, liked some and hated others, yes even Sylvia Hollamby, god help me. I feel that sometimes I'm going against gut instincts. I pick up a lot of knowledge in the files that pass through my hands and no one else's. Keeping my mouth shut becomes far too easy and most times, it's the right thing to do"  
"So if I were to give you information, given to me in strict confidence, am I being professional and exactly what would you do with it"  
Nikki bit her lip. The point delivered diamond hard in Helen's soft tones was a good one. She didn't know what she might get to hear and could easily regret it. Once she heard, there was no going back.  
"You've got me there, Helen"  
Nikki shrugged her shoulders, slipped her hands into her trouser pockets and paced awhile to collect her thoughts.  
"The only justification I can come up with is that I've got a moral responsibility to Karen, as our friend. She's my boss as well and she's in charge of the whole prison, not just my wing. If there's anything that you know that explains just why Karen is seriously not in control of herself, in the last resort, and I mean last resort, I have to know. It's not that I ever ask you about your patients, it's "  
"…….just this one time," Helen finished for her. "That sounds very glib and far too easy to say. That could be argued to be the thin end of a very dangerous wedge. Anyway, what will you do if I tell you? It's a heavy burden to bear." "No heavier than it is for me. Anyway, I'm on the spot at Larkhall where we both work. I know I'm together and in control and Karen's barely hanging on by the skin of her teeth. If she does anything wrong and I know why she's feeling the way she feels, I can help her or stop her from making a mistake. I can't stand to watch helplessly from the sidelines, not knowing. Even if I have to just watch and wait, I'd sooner accept the responsibility. At least I'll know what to look for and I'd just have to keep my eyes and ears open. You think about it Helen. You would do the same if you were in my shoes."

Helen sank back into her armchair. She might have known in advance that she would have to surrender to Nikki's patient persuasion. She had temporised in conceding that she had private knowledge, which she was withholding. She could have denied all knowledge but she didn't. She could have stuck to her guns but she didn't, not at that moment. Nikki was a temptress inviting her to give way to what she wanted to do while appearing in the guise of a very well meaning, caring woman. Her fears shrieked at her that this was fatal but a contrary siren song sounded louder in her mind. It had happened that way before. "All right, Nikki, I'll tell you but you make sure that you are sitting comfortably. You're going to need it"  
"Sure, Helen. You're in charge"  
Helen felt as if she were at the top of a high cliff, poised at the point of diving off the edge into the far below distant cool blue water. She took her courage or recklessness into her hands and jumped. The flight was crazily exhilarating.  
"I found out that Karen has been self harming, Nikki"  
Nikki's mouth opened wide and her eyes dilated with total shock. A kaleidoscope of very disturbing images came to her mind. Karen was just too healthy to break her skin with blood like that. It wasn't Karen, she cried out inside but a whispering voice of reason within her told her that it must be the truth. Too many disconnected memories were being forcibly, terribly connected together. She couldn't deny to herself that power of reason.  
"How long?" she heard the faintly articulated words hang on the still air. They were hideously way off the mark from the central thrust of her intensely caring emotions.  
"Since Henry's funeral. I was told that she had …it had happened on a regular basis since then"  
The words 'Who told you this' jumped straight into her mind and by a hairbreadth, just failed to be expressed in words till she fought down the words. It did not matter who told Helen, only that it had happened.  
"You didn't, I mean, you didn't find out why Karen was doing this terrible thing to herself. I mean she's so strong and so good. She couldn't be doing this sort of thing. I can't believe it, I won't believe it. I mean, she deserves better than this……..How in hell didn't I spot this one? I mean what in hell has happened to the sight I was given. I should have known. " Helen let Nikki's outpouring of words of horror, pity and utter sympathy come to a halt before attempting an answer.

"I didn't get to ask how long." Helen answered. Her words sounded lame and trite. She ought to know. She was the strong-minded psychologist who was expert in enabling her patients to fashion the right words, thought processes and emotions to colour in a clear picture of themselves so that they could get along in this troubled world. It was another thing to come home, stripped of all her professional powers, everything except who Helen Wade was, with all her strengths and weaknesses.  
The informant clearly wasn't Karen herself, Nikki concluded swiftly. She would never have left it at that with such sparse information.

It seemed an eternity later when darkness gradually crept over the room as both of them had gone through the whole gamut of emotions and words. No one thought to switch the light on. Helen felt curiously relieved that Nikki knew what was going on. The sense of sharing felt good to her and somehow reflected off distant memories. However, she had to start looking to the future. That strain in her seemed to keep her from enjoying the here and now yet at the same time, it was a useful if sometimes tiresome gift. "So what are you going to do with my professional confidence," challenged Helen, as she clicked the light on, temporarily blinding both of them. "As I said before, watch and wait. I'd tell Neil but only if it came to the last resort. You know that if I don't tell him when I should, he would never forgive me. He's a good friend of hers. You need friends like him"  
"So what if any of the prison officers ask you?" Helen probed.  
That stopped Nikki in her tracks. It was only a few short hours ago that both she and Gina had been innocently ignorant. That had changed just as Helen had predicted. There was no going back on what she had heard. "Like I said, accept the responsibility with all it means. I've never broken my word and I'm not about to start now." While Nikki's tough words left her lips, her mind whizzed rapidly at a dizzying pace. She would have to tell Gina that, yes she did know, but couldn't say as she was under the crumbling doubtfully believable authority of professional obligation. She laughed ironically to herself. These were deep waters and she would have to persuade Gina that she would watch and wait and trust her. It would almost be worse if Gina accepted her advice with that blind faith in her eyes. Nikki shivered inwardly as she was by no means sure if she could utterly trust such a gamble. 


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: Betaed by Jen and Hunca Munca. 

Part Forty

On the Thursday morning as Jo was in court, George decided to follow up on something they'd both been meaning to do for a while now. They were about as aware as they possibly could be of Kay Scarpetta's bad publicity, which was unfortunately a necessary part of dealing with such spineless, devious cretins as Brian Cantwell. But Kay was only one witness, a very important one, but still only one. Picking up the phone, George called their cardio thoracic expert. 

"Tom, it's George Channing. Would it be convenient for me to come and see you this morning?" "I don't see why not," Tom said thoughtfully. "I'm in theatre till eleven-thirty, but any time after that would be fine." "I need to catch up with Zubin as well while I'm there," George explained. "Though it would probably be better if I could see you separately." "This is all very cloak and dagger," Tom said amusedly. "I'm on a mission to seek out any bad publicity about either of you, that the prosecution could make use of," She told him seriously. "So perhaps you might like to cast your thoughts deep into your past before I arrive." "My bad publicity can be summed up in four words," Tom replied honestly. "But I'll wait to tell you about it till you get here. Come to St. Mary's Darwin Ward, fifth floor." 

Later on that morning, George traversed the long, endless corridors of the hospital with a certain amount of interest. Whenever she usually met up with witnesses, it was in plush offices in the smarter districts of London. But this felt more real somehow, as though the people she was working with this time round, actually meant something to society, rather than simply making enough money to employ the likes of her. She lost count of the many signs and entrances she passed, eventually coming to one gesturing her to a lift. When she emerged into the hustle and bustle of Darwin ward, she made her way to where Tom was arguing with someone she didn't know, his scrubs liberally spattered with blood. Catching sight of her out of the corner of his eye, Tom gave her a lopsided smile. "Welcome to the delightful world of cardio thoracics," He said, breaking off from his discussion with Will Curtis without a backward glance. "You look like you've been busy," George told him dryly. "It's been one of those days," Tom said ruefully. "Will you give me a minute to get out of these scrubs, and then I'll be with you." Telling Lisa to show George to his office, Tom turned on his heel and swiftly departed. 

When he returned not long after, he was carrying two mugs of coffee, which he placed down on a corner of his cluttered desk. "Two hours of very messy surgery, all because of someone who thought he was practicing for the grand prix, so the scheduled list gets pushed back even further than usual. Still, the patient appears to be holding his own so far, so I must be doing something right." "What lured you into cardio thoracics in the first place?" George asked with a smile, as Tom sank down into the chair behind his desk, and took a grateful swig of the coffee. "They say that all cardio thoracic surgeons have about as much arrogance as your average silk," He said, watching her as she sat opposite him. "Just as fighting in court allows you to show off your strengths, that is, I suppose, what heart surgery does for most of us. There isn't much that beats that utterly hedonistic buzz of piecing the main source of all human life back together. Christian Barnard really knew what he was doing when he performed the first heart transplant, because he knew that the ability to put life back into another human being would only ever grab the attention of the very best that the medical profession has to offer." "You might remember some of that, for when we get you on the stand," George told him quietly, slightly in awe of the extent of his drive to succeed. "That will impress the jury far more than any bluster from the prosecution." "You want to hear Zubin when he gets into his stride," Tom told her with a smile. "He's just as bad, only he usually focuses on what it does for him to be able to take someone's pain away. He doesn't teach as much as he does for nothing. You should go to one of his lectures, you might learn something." 

"What I really came to talk about," George said after a short silence. "Is anything that the prosecution might find very interesting about you." "I'm a recovering alcoholic," Tom told her, without the merest sign of shame or self-consciousness attached to it. "Oh, right, I see," George replied, almost successfully hiding her surprise. "Not something you'd expect to hear from a heart surgeon, I assume," Tom said with a wry smile at her slight discomfort. "Perhaps not," She admitted sheepishly. "But we all have our skeletons, Tom." "Hmm, perhaps we do," He replied thoughtfully, scrutinising every inch of her face, and wondering just what lay behind that mask she usually wore. "How long have you been on the wagon?" She asked him, wanting to avoid his penetrating gaze, but finding it incredibly difficult to do so. "Nearly three years," Tom said almost proudly. "Well done," George said with a smile, thinking that this certainly wasn't any small achievement. "How public is people's awareness of this?" "It's not something I try to hide," He told her matter-of-factly. "They all know I spent a little while at a drying out clinic, and a couple of them know that there was a time, when I couldn't go into theatre without a nip of scotch to keep me going. Drinking on duty, it's incredibly stupid, and extremely frowned upon for obvious reasons. But, I stopped drinking, got myself sorted out, so they let me come back to the only thing I've ever really wanted to do." "Then there's really very little the prosecution can make of it," George said firmly. "They can try, and they probably will, but it won't amount to anything. Juries are funny things, they often have far more time for someone who can show that they've mended their ways, rather than someone who's lived a life entirely on the moral high ground." "Oh, and what about the judge?" Tom asked in slight amusement. "Believe me," George said with a light laugh. "Neither of the judges involved in this case, have any room whatsoever, to talk of morally suspect behaviour." "Why two judges?" Tom asked, his curiosity again peaked by the slight anomalies of this case. "They both know Barbara," George told him succinctly. "So, one will be overseeing the trial, and the other will sit as a winger." 

A little while later, Tom led the way back downstairs, and towards the intensive care unit. "You could get lost in this place if you're not careful," He told her. "Did you tell him why I was coming?" George asked, as they passed through the hive of activity that was AAU. "Yes," Tom replied, glancing over his shoulder at her. "And he didn't look all that happy about it. I wonder what he's got to hide." They eventually found Zubin in the ward office, scribbling notes on a pad with one hand, and holding the receiver of the phone in the other, firing off orders and recommendations as rapidly as possible. When he looked up and saw them, he gave George a quick nod of recognition before finishing his phone call. "Sorry about that," He said, replacing the receiver. "But it's like Bedlam in here this morning." "Are you sure this is convenient?" George asked, not wanting to intrude on his work. "As long as it doesn't take long, it's fine," He told her, removing a pile of folders off a chair so she could sit down. "I'll leave you to it," Tom said, tactfully retreating and closing the door behind him. "Did Tom explain why I wanted to see the two of you?" George asked, thinking this as good a place as any to begin. "Yes, but I wouldn't mind also hearing it from you," Zubin said a little testily. "Knowing Kay Scarpetta as well as you do," She began carefully. "I'll assume that you are perfectly aware of most of the suspect publicity that surrounds her on a fairly regular basis." "Yes," Zubin said regretfully. "Journalists have a lot to answer for." "Quite," George agreed with him. "But Kay isn't our only witness. If I or Jo were prosecuting this case, or any case, we would look into the past and backgrounds of every witness we were to cross-examine. We will be doing this with Connie Beauchamp as well as anyone else they decide to use. I need to know, if there is anything, anything at all that the prosecution could use against you when they get you on the stand." There was a long, very tense silence. Zubin looked at anything in the little room but her, clearly wanting to maintain his cover for as long as possible. "I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't absolutely necessary," George assured him, seeing just how difficult he was finding this. "And I can assure you, it won't be anything I haven't heard before." Hoping this was really true, she simply waited, giving him as much time as he needed to formulate an answer. "I used to occasionally visit a prostitute," He said eventually, refusing to look at her. "Okay," George replied, having wondered by his reticence whether it was something like this. "So, are we talking one regular prostitute, or several different ones?" "One regular woman," Zubin told her shame facedly. "And does this woman have a name?" George probed delicately. "Why is that relevant?" Zubin asked, feeling that this had gone far enough. "Because I would like to avoid her being snapped up by the other side," George told him succinctly. "Digging up a prostitute to tell him stories about you, is precisely the type of thing Brian Cantwell would do as a matter of course." "And just how do you propose to find her?" Zubin asked belligerently. "Because I don't even know where she is now." "You leave that to me," George told him, already having an idea about this. "Though just out of interest, why did you stop seeing her?" "She turned up here as a patient, after a train crash. You could say that it made things somewhat awkward." "Yes, I can see that," George said kindly. "Well, unless you have anything else to tell me, I can leave you to your patients." 

As George drove away from the hospital, she couldn't help thinking that they really had picked a bunch of problems for witnesses. Oh well, she mused to herself, that was the name of the game these days. Professor Khan, a visitor of prostitutes though, that certainly wasn't something she'd expected. That brought her very neatly to the problem of how to track down this woman. Zubin had said that her name was Caroline Dewer, not that this meant anything to George. Who knew about how to find anybody anywhere? It had to be Yvonne. Scrolling down to Yvonne's number on her mobile, George phoned her as she sat at the traffic lights. "Yvonne, it's George," She said when Yvonne answered. "How's it going?" Yvonne asked, sounding pleased to hear from her. "Interesting," George told her evasively. "There's something I'd like you to do for me if possible. Are you busy?" "No, come on over. You're just in time for lunch." 

When George drew up outside Yvonne's house, her eyebrows soared. Yvonne lived a matter of a couple of streets away from her, but her house looked to be about twice the size. When she rang the doorbell, she heard a muffled bark. When Yvonne opened the door, she was accompanied by Trigger. "Come in," She said with a smile. "What's his name?" George asked, holding out a hand for Trigger to sniff. "Trigger," Yvonne replied fondly. "Charlie always had a thing for calling his dogs after the tools of his trade." "Oh, god," George said with half a laugh, as the pieces slotted into place. "He's lovely." She scratched the dog behind the ears, and he leant his head against her thigh in utter contentment. "I wouldn't have placed you for a dog lover," Yvonne said in slight amazement. "My father's had dogs for as long as I can remember," George told her, following her into the kitchen. "Though he's usually preferred lurchers, or anything else he could take hunting or shooting with him." They ate cold chicken and salad, and Yvonne poured them some strong espresso coffee. "So what is it you want me to do?" Yvonne asked, crunching on a piece of celery. "I need you to find me a prostitute," George told her, and only then realised how this sounded. "You can't be that hard up for it," Yvonne said with a laugh. "No," George replied with a smile. "She's a previous acquaintance of one of our witnesses, and I need to make sure that she isn't going to leak anything dodgy about him to the other side. I'm asking you, because you have methods for finding people at your disposal, that would find me out of a job, not to mention disbarred." "Are you asking me to break the law in order to find her?" Yvonne asked evenly. "I would far rather you didn't," George said honestly. "But we do need this woman found. If this were anyone else, I wouldn't bother, but she is precisely the kind of person our prosecuting counsel would go looking for." "Do we have a name?" Yvonne asked, feeling that old tug of curiosity to get into something new. "Caroline Dewer," George told her. "And her client was Professor Zubin Khan. I'm told that he stopped seeing her, after she turned up as one of his patients at St. Mary's after a train crash. Professor Khan being the type of person he is, I wouldn't have thought..." George stopped, not entirely sure how to phrase what she wanted to say. "...That she was just any old scrubber off the street," Yvonne finished for her. "Something like that," George agreed. "He's very, fastidious, I suppose is the right word, and he wouldn't want to lower his standards more than necessary." "I'll ask the Julies to start with," Yvonne replied, sounding business-like. "It's always possible they can give me a lead to one of their old friends." 

When they'd both finished eating, they lit up cigarettes. Sitting down by George's chair, Trigger gazed up at her sorrowfully. "He looks at most people like that," Yvonne said fondly, thinking of when this dog had met John and Mimi. George laid a hand on his enormous shaggy head, gently kneading him behind the ears. "He's getting old though, poor sod." "I bet he missed Lauren when she was in prison," George observed, remembering how her father's dogs had always been delighted to see her when she'd returned from a term away at school. "Yeah, he did. He always somehow knew when I'd been to see her." "How's she getting on?" "Fine," Yvonne said with a proud smile. "She's one of the few people for whom I can safely say prison actually worked." 


	41. Chapter 41

Part Forty-One

Despite all the psychiatrists and the full array of nursing care, they had not realized that Shell Dockley was at her most dangerous when she appeared to be at her most cooperative. Even when she was doped up by the pills they were giving her, some corner of her mind was able to work unobserved, at cross-purpose to her outward appearance. Those large blue eyes and guileless smile still carried that power of deception and none of those screws ever understood this.

It all started that day when that rare event happened in her life, a letter from the outside world was placed into her hands. In a second, the feel of it sparked a sense of familiarity. The envelope just had to be prison issue even if the writing was unfamiliar, small regular script, clearly female. Her eyes opened wide when she pulled a piece of paper out of the envelope. A broad smile split her face. The single folded sheet of prison issue paper was scrawled over by Denny's large uneven childlike script, which virtually filled the page and, at the right hand margin had to be cramped up as she was in danger of overrunning the edge.

"I thought you'd want to see this. Got this out of an old paper. Don't think I've forgotten you, babe. Love you loads. Denny." Instantly, another memory jumped into her mind of her last memory of an emotional and embarrassed Denny both edging away from her yet clearly wanting to stay where she was. "I'll write to you Shell and I'll keep my promise."

Shell remembered that Denny had said those words and, yeah, she later laughed cynically to herself, she really meant it right then. Back then, she had waited for weeks on end for the letter that had never come till she had given up on her like she had given up on ever getting out despite what Miss Betts had told her. Now she had received the letter from Denny, she felt confused. She didn't know what to think, what to feel. 

She pulled the newspaper cutting from the Sun. Out jumped an image of Miss Betts, mid stride, outside the gates of Larkhall. Her face darkened for a second. It couldn't be real. That must be Wade and Miss Rossi just behind her. What sort of frigging joke was this? She couldn't get her head round that that so her peripheral vision faded out whatever she didn't want to see and focused in on Miss Betts instead. She felt dead sorry for her. Anyone could see the shock in her eyes as the flashbulb exploded in her face. Shell could see that this wasn't the normally majestically in control Miss Betts she had known. She looked just like any other woman in the wing. She had her usual suit on but it looked sort of disarranged. She wasn't herself, any idiot could tell that one a mile away.

Her staring eyes took in the story. 'Junkie Son of Prison Governor Takes Own Life.' Her eyes open wider and wider. This ain't real, a voice inside her head told her. She was vaguely aware that Miss Betts had a son but had supposed that he would be, sort of like her, dead straight, sort of hardworking. She didn't need to read what the paper said about him. It told her between the lines that he was like any other junkie she had known on the outside and on the inside. Her eyes were riveted to what Miss Betts said right at the end." I'll get by the same way as any single mum does."

You're lying, she knew instinctively as she shook her head in disbelief. That sounded hard and cruel, nothing like the Miss Betts she knew. Then again, papers always make up stuff. Look what happened to her when she first got put away. They had a field day with her just like that judge who called her 'evil personified.' That wasn't true. Shell Dockley was fair, like. Do the crime and you do your time. That was why she resented being stuck here instead of with Larkhall with her mates. Somehow, she couldn't make friends with this lot. They didn't think the way she thought, talk the way she talked and you couldn't have a few laughs with them.

What was it that Miss Betts said, 'single mum' ,'single mum, 'single mum.'That stray thought dropped out of thin air and the words went round and round in her head and made it hurt. That's what she was, wasn't she? She had forgotten all about that. She shouldn't have done. She put her hands to her forehead and tears trickled down her face. She had once held her little baby Ronan in her arms before he was snatched from her. In her mind, he was still the baby and he had been frozen in time or so she had thought. How long ago was it that Hedges and that bastard Fenner between them had got her shipped out of Larkhall. She started counting on her fingers, little finger first as she thought deep and hard. Her headache got worse but with a big effort of her will, she counted somewhere in the space between her third and fourth finger.

"Frigging hell." She exclaimed out loud.

She turned her face to the wall so that nobody could see her thoughts, which were racing furiously out of control. She never realized she had been there so long. It frightened her that her life was ticking by, day after day after day. Ronan would be able to walk by now and he would be with another family. He would call some posh woman her mother, not her. Why should he know her, remember her? If she were walking down the street and called out his name, would he know her, run to her? Then again, his name might be changed for all she knew. There was so much that she ought to know about him. At least she remembered Dena and Kayley when they were little. Why should it happen to her every frigging time? Her thoughts only twisted the knife further into her heart. What would he know of her? Being born in a nick wasn't something he'd ever be told about, not even that brief time she was allowed to love him. Poor little mite, she whispered to herself. He hadn't lived with her, would know nothing about her, for what was worth knowing. Her lips twisted cynically in as much self harm as she was driven to. Why had she ever thought she was so big? What was she but an evil slut? The Julies told her that once. She could sense the sharp stare that shot at her from the couple of nurses nearby, especially from that tart with long fair curly hair and who swanned around in that nurses uniform, all stuck up and superior, looking down on all the other muppets in this muppet wing. She was different, of course. She had got something hidden away so deep that nobody else knew where it was, even herself in her off days.

She deliberately attached the suitable smile on her face, which was a masterpiece of counterfeit. All the time, she was shaking inside with bitter self-accusation and hurt. She had to get away somewhere she could think straight. It was frigging impossible in this huge ward, no room to herself, everything in the open for those who could see.

"It's OK, Miss," she called out. "I thought I saw a spider. Silly me. You know I'm dead scared of spiders."

"OK, Shell." Came the automatic reply. It reassured the nurse who always found that Shell Dockley was one of the easier patients to deal with, none of that schizoid paranoid reaction to her slightest words like some of the other patients she had to deal with. 

Later on, Shell went to the toilet, about the only place she could get any privacy and she looked again at the letter and the press cutting. She lit a cigarette as an automatic gesture so she could think better. She reread everything and realized that she had got everything right first time around. Everything was slowly sinking into her brain like some kind of chill out drug. Somehow, she was starting to make sense of the mess she was in. It was obvious that she had to do something about her Ronan. It didn't matter what some posh bitch called him. In her mind, he was Ronan.

She was meditating vaguely when she looked at the back of the article that some handwriting caught her eye. Frigging hell, it was an address. The handwriting on the front of the envelope and on the back of the article was exactly the same. She couldn't think which dozy screw had written it on the back of the article and then posted it to her. Whose address could it be, she vaguely wondered, her mind temporarily fogged. It was a full minute later on that it came to her. Miss Betts address. It had to be. It couldn't be her writing but then again, she hadn't a clue what her writing looked like. All she knew was that if she got to see her again, maybe she would get her out and back with Ronan like she said she would. At least she said something like that. Nothing had happened and she was getting right down in the dumps. Very well then, it was up to her to get back with him and not wait for anyone to fix it for her. It was funny that it had not crossed her mind before. She might as well call in on Miss Betts herself. So she was in a secure hospital? She had escaped from Larkhall before. That was more like the old Shell talking, not some doped up bimbo who couldn't think her way out of a paper bag. That thought was a comforting one and a vague smile spread across her face.

A sudden rapping on the toilet door told her that some nutter wanted her toilet. Cigarette ash was hanging on precariously to the stub, which was held between her two fingers. She couldn't be bothered to argue with her so she dropped the cigarette in the loo, flushed it and got out. She went back onto the ward while a whole library of ideas and emotions floated in and out of her mind. It cheered her up that she was sure no one could see into her mind. They just weren't smart enough.

It wasn't until she was alone at night in the darkness of the ward when it all came to her That nurse looked just like her from a distance. Whether you were a nurse or a screw, you could walk through bolts and bars and no one would ask questions. All she had to do was to wait for the right opportunity.

The psychiatrist wrote steadily in the gradually thickening file while, outside his window, the darkness spread all around.

"Michelle Dockley has become settled at Ashmoor almost to the point of institutionalization. She is cooperative with all those in authority. It is as well that she were not suddenly precipitated into the outside world as she would find it difficult to summon up the necessary amount of individualistic self-reliance and enterprise.

At the same time, she has difficulties in forming relationships with the other patients and her interactions are of the most formal and distanced. It is as if she has withdrawn into her own world. When asked about her children, she makes a show of indifference as if all that is in the past. She is content to passively accept whatever is around her. Considering her disturbed past, she has made the best possible adjustment that she could make in the circumstances and she is one of the lesser of the security risks of all the patients.

I recommend periodic counseling to monitor her progress and keep it at a steady state."

He put down his pen and laid it to rest just as Shell Dockley laid her plans to rest for the first chance to properly realize them. This felt like it was her last chance to change her life. 


	42. Chapter 42

A/N: Betaed by Jen and Hunca Munca. 

Part Forty-Two

On the Monday evening, John decided again to check on Karen. He had kept in phone contact with her over the last couple of weeks, trying to get her to talk, but not so far having much success. He was entirely at a loss as to how to help her, not something he was used to feeling. Self-harm wasn't something he'd come across before in a personal context, and not knowing how to get through to Karen was making him feel more and more useless every day. She hadn't told him that she'd cut herself again, but he highly suspected that she had. What he certainly did know was that it wasn't something she would simply be able to give up at the click of her fingers. He hadn't so far shared his knowledge or his concerns with either Jo or George, because in truth he really didn't know how to tell them. He knew that George would be bitterly upset, and that Jo would be immensely concerned. He could have done with their advice and their gentle sympathy, but he wasn't altogether sure that Karen would want either of them to know her secret. 

Karen knew that she was going steadily down hill, but she really didn't know how to stop it getting any worse. Nikki was perpetually trying to keep an eye on her, doing her damnedest to persuade her to talk, whilst at the same time trying not to make it as obvious as it was. Karen desperately wanted to stop cutting, to halt that urge in her that would compel her to take any sharp edge to her once beautiful skin, but she couldn't. The feeling of panic would come upon her, and the need to exhume her pain and allow it to drip silently away was far too alluring. Only that release of her life force gave her the ability to cry. No more could she use her tears to let out the agony and frustration of her unresolved anger against her son. She hated herself for being so angry with him, alternating between anger that he had done this to her, and the guilt that she clearly hadn't been there for him. She wasn't entirely certain what had provoked this latest bout of self-mutilation, but something had yet again sparked her off into that terrifyingly downward spiral. Given what date it was, she thought she could probably hazard a guess. It was around this time of year, that she had plucked up the courage to inform her parents that she was pregnant with Ross. She'd been only seventeen, and had been pregnant for nearly three months. Her father's anger had petrified her that night, though she would never have admitted it to him. He had castigated her total lack of decency, her complete absence of a moral code of ethics, and told her that she was no longer good enough to be called his daughter. What on earth would he think of her now, Karen thought ruefully to herself? Her son was dead, she was single, and spending each and every working day locking up women for a living. He certainly wouldn't be remotely proud of her, she knew that much. Her thoughts of this time twenty-three years ago had almost taken her away from what she was actually doing, so that she had ended up cutting deeper than she usually did. But oh, to feel that sense of calm serenity once more, to really experience the sensation of all that pain simply flowing out of her. That was why she did it, to take back the Karen who could cope, the Karen who could continue as normal, the Karen who could almost fool everyone into believing that she was all right. 

When the doorbell rang, Karen was holding a towel to her arm, trying to staunch the flow of any more of the crimson fluid. The wound was raw, tender where the material of the towel chafed against it. Wrapping it more securely around her arm, she took a glance out of the front window. Thank god for that, it was only John, and he did at least know about her new little habit. Running quickly downstairs, she opened the door, a half defiant, half ashamed expression on her face. "Karen, I..." He began, and then caught sight of the towel around her arm. "Please don't say it," Karen told him belligerently, turning from him to walk back up the stairs. "Because being told just how stupid this is, and how much I really don't need to do it, is honestly not going to help." Closing the door behind him and following her up to the living room, John was still trying to get his head around the fact that he'd clearly disturbed her in her cutting. When they reached the lounge, he laid an arresting hand on her shoulder. "Let me see," He encouraged her gently, but she flinched away from him as though he'd slapped her. "No," She replied, sounding almost terrified of doing such a thing. Then, calming down slightly, she added, "It's not something you want to see, John, believe me." "No, you're right there," John said dryly. "I don't want to see it, but I think you should let me see it." There were two visible tear tracks on her cheeks, showing that she had previously been crying, but what really alarmed him, was the wild, almost primeval look in her enormous blue eyes. She reminded him of a bird whose territory had been penetrated, as though the distance she usually managed to maintain had been threatened. Glancing back down at where she was holding her arm protectively against her body, he saw that the blood had begun to soak through the towel. Without a second thought, John steered her by the shoulder into the bathroom, pushing her to sit down on the closed lid of the toilet. Holding her left arm over the washbasin, he gently unwrapped the now bloody towel, wincing as he saw the extent to the damage she had done to herself. "That could probably do with a few stitches," John said quietly as he gazed at what one woman's pain could achieve in so little time. "Tough," Karen said a little bitterly. "It'll have to go without." Dampening a corner of the towel under the cold tap, John washed away some of the blood, resisting the urge to tell her that she'd made a real mess of herself this time. Opening the door of the bathroom cabinet, John retrieved alcohol wipes and a sterile dressing. "You're certainly well prepared," He said dryly, unwrapping one of the wipes and running it over the wound, causing her to suck in a breath through her teeth, in an attempt not to utter the most vile phrases she could think of. She bit furiously down on her bottom lip, the agony of having the alcohol in contact with her raw and bleeding flesh almost insurmountable. "I used to be a nurse," She told him through gritted teeth. "What do you expect?" "Which begs the question, of why you can do this in the first place," John replied a little bitterly, discarding the alcohol wipe and covering the wound with the dressing. "Perhaps because I know just how far I can push it," Karen amazed him by saying. Still holding her arm between his hands, he stared at her. "That doesn't mean that one day you won't go too far," He told her eventually, the thought of that day arriving utterly terrifying him. 

Going back into the lounge, John poured himself a drink and Karen lit a cigarette. "Are you going to tell me what brought this on?" He asked quietly, feeling that she did at the very least owe him an explanation. "What do you want me to say?" Karen asked a little defiantly. "It was something I needed to do." "I'd like you to tell me why," John replied evenly, resisting the urge to show her just how furious he really was with her. "You tell me something first," Karen said on a whim. "When Charlie told you she was pregnant, what was your reaction? What did you do?" "What's Charlie got to do with this?" John asked, entirely mystified as to where this was going. "Just satisfy my curiosity," She replied, for the moment not giving him a reason for her slightly odd question. "Erm, I suppose you could say I took it in my stride," John said after a moment's thought. "I certainly wasn't vastly opposed to the idea, and once I'd thought about it, I was really quite enthusiastic about it." "So you definitely wanted her to keep it?" Karen asked him, wanting to get this point absolutely straight. "Yes," John told her firmly. "Part of me was delighted at the thought of Charlie becoming a mother, but Charlie had other ideas. When she said that she wanted a termination, I wanted her to stay and discuss it, but she was adamant, and because I wouldn't immediately help her to get what she wanted, she went to George. I was pretty angry that she'd done something so drastic without even discussing it with me, but George and Jo managed to convince me that it was Charlie's decision. Why did you want to know?"

"I was only seventeen when I discovered I was pregnant with Ross," She began a little hesitantly. "Yes, I know," John replied gently, thinking that he may at last be able to see where this was going. "And one thing that you have never told me anything about, is your parents' reaction to that." "If you want the details on my parents, ask George," Karen said bitterly. "She managed to break through my vow of silence some time in May, and that's not a conversation I'm particularly eager to repeat. Suffice it to say that my father wasn't amused. They never knew Ross, they never wanted to know him, or me after he was born. I just got to wondering what they would think of the complete mess I've made of everything. My father would probably tell me that it was all he could possibly have expected of his daughter. He always resented the fact that I wasn't a boy, and my son having killed himself would probably just reinforce everything he's ever believed about me." "And that is not the way any man should treat his child," John said all too vehemently. "Fathers aren't supposed to call their daughters some of the names he called me when he found out about Ross's future arrival, but that didn't stop him." Suddenly realising that she'd definitely said far too much, Karen went and stayed quiet. 

"Karen, you did everything possible within your power to help your son," John told her gently but firmly. "Did I?" Karen replied, bitter tears rising to her eyes. "Because it doesn't bloody look like it, does it." She turned her face away from him, not wanting him to see her cry, even though in the circumstances she knew this to be ridiculous. Laying a strong, warm hand on her cheek, John turned her face back towards him, his soft, blue eyes watching hers. When she could no longer maintain her control, he carefully slid his arms round her, holding her against his chest, and resting his cheek on her hair. No words needed to be said between them, as they were both deeply aware of her inner torment. Karen was almost silent as she cried, the slight trembling of her body the only thing to betray her grief. 

After a while, when her tears had dried, she still leant against him, taking an enormous amount of comfort from simply being held in a pair of strong, male arms. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" John asked eventually, knowing that he certainly didn't trust her to be left on her own. "John, I don't have the right to ask that of you," She said a little regretfully, lifting her head from where it had lain against his shoulder. "That wasn't what I asked you," He said with a smile. "Besides, as a friend, you have the perfect right to ask anything of me that I have it in my power to give. I can't always guarantee to deliver, but I can try. So, would you like me to stay?" "Well, yes I would," Karen replied with a watery smile. "But I am at a loss as to know why you are offering such a thing." "Two reasons really," John said a little evasively. "The first is that I think you need the company, and the second is because part of me doesn't trust you." "That's honest, I suppose," She said ruefully. "And the thought is appreciated, really." But a good while later when they were lying in her large, comfortable bed, Karen couldn't help but to wonder whether this really was such a good idea. She was wearing a blue cotton nightie, and John his boxer-shorts, therefore all could definitely be said to be perfectly respectable, but she couldn't help being thoroughly, almost painfully aware of his body there behind her, lying tucked up against her as he was, with one arm around her waist. John could feel how tense she was as she nestled in his arms, so he took one of her hands in his, gently chafing at it until she began to relax. "It isn't wrong, me being here," He told her softly. "Who are you trying to convince," She asked him dryly, "me or yourself?" "You," He said with a laugh. "Now go to sleep." 


	43. Chapter 43

Part Forty-Three

Shell was in a confused state of excitement and tension as she drove the stolen car along the country roads out of Ashmoor. It was pitch black outside as there were no streetlights and only her headlights. She didn't want to have to get herself lost on some unlit country road. She was a city woman. Pubs, clubs and late night eating-places were what she knew, not some stinking farmyard and lumbering combine harvester blocking up the road. For all she knew, the police were on her tail and she needed to get away fast from here. A sense of crazy excitement flared up inside her fading down to a feeling of sheer relief as she spotted the sign she was looking for. She turned her car to cut right round the roundabout and drop down to the four lanes, wide reassurance of the motorway. This huge gash in the rolling countryside etched a hundred miles and more line from north to south and all routes headed to the London of her homeland.

She had flipped out a Guns and Roses CD and the pounding guitars and wailing vocals blasted out. She pushed her foot near to the bottom of the floorboard and the low slung car made her feel that the tarmac was whizzing past either side of her at an impossibly fast pace. She was free and on the run. She hadn't been behind the wheel of a car since she lived in Amsterdam but it had all come back to her. She felt incredibly sharp and alert. It was a shame Denny wasn't with her to share the fun and games, she thought with a pang of regret but a surge of excitement overtook her at the thought of her freedom. It was all so easy when she thought back on what had happened.

Cutting back on the pills had been the first step in getting to where she was now. She must be a kid at heart, she thought to herself, wanting something when some tosser told her no and getting bored with it when she was allowed it. When she was at Larkhall, drugs were banned so she wanted drugs, right? It was easy enough to get the other girls to smuggle them in at visiting time or lob a parcel over the wall. The rest was easy, as she had handled the distribution. It was jellies and valium most of the day to get out of it and either that or Denny's body made the nights go sweeter. When she got here, the screws were feeding her stuff so she would go through the day with a cabbage for a mind and not notice. Trouble was, she had woken up and once she had flushed the stuff away, she became more like the old Shell and she could plan what she wanted to do.

That nurse was the other part of the plan. She had made a special effort to be nice and cooperative. The dozy tart even offered her the key to her escape served up on a plate, the problem of which car in the car park was hers. From her previous experience of escaping from Larkhall, that bastard Fenner helped her to escape for his own selfish reasons, the only reason why she had trusted him. The other half of her scheme was that pathetic creep from the film crew who positively drooled all over her. That van of theirs was dead easy to spot in the car park. This time was different. She would have to do everything by herself like that shrink always kept banging on about. The one problem was the escape car. One car would look just like another and trying every car door would be a dead giveaway. "A bright red Fiesta, dead nippy and goes like a bat out of hell. It's got a registration plate that really suits me. Means I don't have to put in for special ones." She droned on enthusiastically after subjecting Shell to an inordinately long description of the latest burn up along country roads with her mates.  
"Oh and what's that?" Shell asked, "ACE123T" she answered proudly." Says everything, doesn't it"  
"Yeah, it does say everything." Shell agreed with her politely and blandly. Inside, she gave a mental jump for joy. She had just been handed the way out of Ashmoor. All it took was to put her plan into operation.

"Time for your nighttime injection, Shell." The nurse called out. Shell was the last one she had to treat and the other patients in the ward were sliding off into nighttime's oblivion, which would take away their troubles. Everything was still and quiet while Shell lay in her nightie, apparently submissive. The nurse pulled the plunger back and approached the other woman, fully expecting her to hold her arm out meekly, as if she were at the local doctor's. Instead of that, steel hard hands gripped her and secured a hold on the terrified woman and she was pushed down into the bed.  
"Oh no you don't, mush. It's your time for La La land. Just don't struggle and you'll be all right." Shell muttered fiercely but enough to keep her voice down and to persuade the terrified woman to cooperate. In an instant, she remembered just why Shell Dockley had ended up in prison. She nodded her head and made a gargling sound into the pillow.  
Shell picked up the syringe off the floor and plunged the needle into the other woman's forearm. Within seconds, the woman's body went limp.  
The rest of the business was easy. She undid the buttons of the nurse's uniform and eased off the outer clothing. To her immense satisfaction, it fitted on her surprisingly easily, just a bit on the tight side but nothing so much that anyone would notice. She rifled through her pockets and found her pass card in her uniform. She would need that.  
"So now I'm Nurse Ford," muttered Shell to herself, enjoying the joke of a false identity. She secured the nurse's small blue handbag, which lay on the floor and examined the contents. She opened the purse, which contained a couple of credit cards, and thirty pounds, which was what she, was hoping for. The make up, a mobile phone and a bunch of keys completed the escape kit. She worked swiftly and silently and when she was done, thoughtfully tucked the other woman in her bed with the blanket almost covering her face. Last of all, she reached in her bedside locker for the letter from Denny and slipped that carefully into the bag. It was important for practical reasons and because of the sort of sentimental urges that she only felt safe with in relation to her kids and hardly anyone else besides.

"Night night. Sweet dreams, mush. At least I know you won't grass on me," She couldn't help resist whispering.

Shell walked quietly down the wing, let herself out and went down the first corridor, the part of the wing that she knew. When she got beyond that, her heart was in her mouth as she had never been that way before except in the traumatic occasion when she was first dragged that way from Larkhall. Luck was with her as the hospital very thoughtfully provided comprehensive signs and amongst those, 'official car park' enabled her to walk straight out of the place. The cold and the dark was a bracing tonic of fresh air after the typical stale hospital air and, sure enough, the red Fiesta was the fourth one in the first row. At last, she was free.  
At nighttime, Nikki and Helen lay asleep together in their double bed. The room was dark apart from moonlight shining faintly through the windows. Just before they settled down to sleep, the thought came to both of them that their days of living on the opposite hours of the day were behind them and they were truly free to be who they wanted to be. The demands of their daytime jobs were heavy and recent events had collided those professional spheres against each other but they had come through this one together. No matter what else happened in their lives, then unless a major crisis blew up at nighttime from Larkhall, they were free to share the same space together and the world could go its own sweet way and would not touch them. 

"Wonder what Shell is doing now?" Denny asked the Julies just before lockup time." Course, she wasn't your friend so you wouldn't be interested"  
"I'll be straight, Denny. She did some bloody evil things in her time, you know that. It ain't no wonder that we got to be mates with Yvonne and the two of them always hated each other's guts"  
Julie Saunders removed her glasses and stared fairly severely at Denny. In her own mind, she had worked out her own allegiances and knew where she stood. She wasn't inclined to forget what had gone on although she was prepared to forgive where it was right to do so. Talking with Yvonne over the years had sharpened up her ideas so that she could take over where Yvonne had left off.  
"That don't mean that we don't understand that you were both mates"  
"A bit more than mates….." Denny interjected. She could still remember of those months in Spain, the sun beating down on them both on the deck of that yacht and the brief coolness of the nights, which didn't stay cool for long. Not when she had her all to herself instead of with some dickhead who was bound to mess with her head. Shell had a dodgy taste in men and had never learnt from it, Denny thought pityingly.  
"….but that don't mean that we don't think that what happened to Shell was disgusting. It was all that bastard Fenner's doing. It's a shame that something can't be done for her but once you get into one of them places, you'd need gelignite to get you out again"  
There was a gloomy silence. Denny had accepted the grim truth behind that remark. Miss Betts may be the governor of this prison but she wasn't God. She never pretended that she was in the way that she was never afraid to show that very human side of her. She hadn't seen that much of her round the wing recently but she supposed she was kept very busy. "I wonder what Shell's doing right now…….." Denny finished The Julies didn't answer. What could they say but she's likely to be doing the same of them. One nick is the same as another except the bolts and bars on muppet wing were twice as secure and her chances of escape twice as hopeless.

Several hours later, Shell saw the outskirts of London after a long drive down the motorway. It was a long way to London and she had risked calling into a service station and filling up the tank and buying an A - Z map of London. She knew where she had grown up and bits and pieces of London but frigging dockland was totally new to her. She had to see Miss Betts and didn't want to be driving in circles all night. So what if she were seen with a road map driving uncertainly round London. Half the population were frigging tourists and foreigners so she wouldn't stand out.

At last, she came to the road on which new flats were situated. She had to hand it to Miss Betts for taste. It had a posh communal garage underneath it, a flight of steps, cut into the earth and leading from outside the sliding doors up to her posh looking bungalow, brand spanking new. It was in total darkness so Miss Betts would bound to be there. She drove up quietly to the flat and parked the car just outside. She fished round in the glove compartment and found what she was looking for, a long thin screwdriver which was nice and comfortable. She had done a bit of breaking and entering in her time and that, driving and sex was something, which, once you learned, you never forgot the knack. This gaffe looked dead easy, big wide windows, not some old terraced house with a front door and small windows four feet up, solid and secure. Delicately, she pressed the screwdriver against the door frame and, without too much effort, clicked it open.

The sound was loud to Shell's pent up emotions and must have roused Miss Betts. She paused a few minutes to see if there was any response and thankfully, everything was as quiet as the grave. Stupid expression that, she thought. She swore she could see her little Ronan inside the house as she waited. Don't worry, she soothed herself in her head, mummy's coming to find you. She stepped into the flat and stood in the front room. Fortunately, the moonlight gave her enough illumination to avoid knocking into anything. The room, what she could see of it, had class as Miss Betts had. She would always have class, not like Shell Dockley, she thought ruefully. She tiptoed to the landing, which led to the rest of the flat and, seeing the door at the end and guessing that this was the bedroom, tiptoes in and watched and waited. 


	44. Chapter 44

Betaed by Jen.

Part Forty-Four

At first, Karen couldn't say what had woken her. She lay on her back, as still as a statue, all her senses immediately on red alert. John was lying on his side facing her, and she could hear his deep, regular breathing. But something had disturbed her slumber, something alien, something that certainly shouldn't have been there. It wasn't a sound, but a feeling, a sense that they were no longer alone in her flat. Reaching out for John's hand, she gave it a tentative squeeze. As John came to, he couldn't immediately understand why Karen had woken him, but when he took a breath to speak, she squeezed his hand again to tell him to keep quiet. When the overhead light snapped on, they were almost blinded until their eyes became accustomed to the brightness. As Karen stared at the figure in her bedroom doorway, she finally discovered what people meant by the phrase 'lost for words'. What on earth was Shell Dockley doing in her flat, in her bedroom? John on the other hand, not recognising Shell, simply lay there and stared at her. 

"Shell," Karen said in aghast disbelief. "What on earth are you doing here?" "Sorry, Miss," Shell said, moving a little way into the room. "I didn't know you'd have company." "Company or not," Karen said dismissively. "I still want to know what you're doing here." "Just wanted to see you," Shell said a little belligerently. "Are you carrying anything I should be extra wary of?" Karen asked, not thinking for a moment that Shell would tell her, but using the question to buy her some thinking time. "Miss, this ain't like the time I broke into Bodybag's house," Shell assured her. "I just want to talk, that's all." "I believe you," Karen said unconvincingly. "Thousands wouldn't." Before Shell could reply, John tentatively cleared his throat. "Does somebody mind telling me what on earth is going on?" "John Deed," Karen said, gesturing to him. "Shell Dockley, current inmate of Ashmoor special psychiatric hospital, and I presume on the run." "Like they'd let me out with a free pardon," Shell said disgustedly. John's eyebrows had risen so high that they were barely visible beneath his hairline. "Any objections if I get out of bed?" Karen asked, gradually moving into a sitting position. "Because I'd really rather not have this conversation lying down." "Like I said," Shell assured her. "I ain't here to hurt anyone." "Well, I suppose that's nice to know," Karen replied, privately thinking that her tongue was entirely ignoring the signals from her still half dormant brain. John wasn't remotely sure as to what one did or didn't do in a situation such as this, so he stayed precisely where he was, waiting for a cue from Karen. But as Karen left the bed and moved to put some clothes on, Shell asked, "Can I use your bathroom?" "Why," Karen asked before she could think better of it. "Have you crutched a weapon that you might want at your disposal?" "No," Shell said belligerently. "I just want a piss." Not dignifying this with a response, Karen jerked her head in the direction of the bathroom. 

Once Shell had momentarily left them, John also rose from the bed and swiftly pulled on his clothes. But as he took a breath to speak, Karen held up a hand. Trying to pull on a skirt and T-shirt with one hand, she reached for a pen and a notepad that were on the dressing-table, and frantically scribbled John the following instructions:

"I've got the upper hand, so I'll try to keep it. Don't say anything that might upset her. I need to make her relax before I've any hope of getting the cuffs on her." 

Going into the lounge, and after switching on some more lights, Karen gestured to John to sit on the sofa. Silently retrieving her spare set of handcuffs from the sideboard drawer, she hid them in the pocket of her skirt. When Shell emerged, Karen said, "Do you want a cup of tea?" "Please," Shell replied gratefully, sinking into a chair at the lounge table and watching Karen move about in the kitchen. Spying Karen's cigarettes and lighter on the table in front of her, Shell took one and lit up. As Karen waited for the kettle to boil, she stood in the kitchen doorway, scrutinising every inch of perhaps the one woman she wouldn't have expected to see in her flat in a million years. "Shell," She said after a moment. "What is that you're wearing?" "It's a nurse's uniform," Shell told her almost proudly. "The dozy tart who came to give me my medication, thought I was going to be all nice and co-operative, I think that's what they call it, only she was the one who ended up getting the needle instead of me, stupid cow. So, I nicked her uniform, and she's tucked up in my bed dozing away in La La land. I look quite a bit like her, and her pass card was in her uniform pocket. It was a piece of piss to walk out of there." "You're getting more creative, I'll say that for you," Karen told her ruefully, unwilling to admit just how impressed she actually was. "Yeah," Shell said with a mirthless laugh. "Even Fenner would have been proud of that one." Then, looking over at John, she asked, "So, who's this then?" Karen took a breath to answer, but John got in before her. "I'm a high court judge," He told her, looking her straight in the eye, and clearly hoping to disconcert her. "Blimey," Shell said with a broad smile. "You're going up in the world, in't you, Miss." "So it would seem," Karen replied with a slight smile, thankful that John's statement hadn't rattled Shell in the way she'd thought it would. "The only Judge I ever had the pleasure of," Shell told John stonily "Told me I was evil personified. I ain't ever forgotten that." "What did you do?" John asked her, his curiosity outweighing his sense of caution. "For a judge to describe you in such a fashion." "Not something I'm especially proud of," Shell told him evasively. "Well, that's progress, I suppose," Karen said to no one in particular, returning to the kitchen to pour the tea. But as she moved to the table and put Shell's mug down in front of her, Shell caught at Karen's arm to hold her still, gazing awestruck at the dressing covering part of her left arm, together with the scars a little way above it. "Bleedin' 'ell," She said with widening eyes. "Since when did you start cutting?" "Since my son started thinking it was clever to kill himself," Karen told her quietly, the explanation slipping out of her treacherously unguarded mouth. To her astonishment, Shell's face softened. "Yeah, Denny told me about that. I'm sorry." "I thought she might," Karen replied, trying to sound unaffected by Shell's slight sense of propriety. "Fenner wouldn't recognise you if he saw that," Shell said thoughtfully, still looking at the scars on Karen's arm. "There's a lot that Fenner wouldn't recognise if he was still alive, and I'm not just talking about me." "Do you ever still dream about him?" Shell asked, as Karen leant against the sideboard and lit herself a cigarette. "I think we all do to some extent," Karen told her, wondering just where this had come from. "You, me, Helen, you name it." "Little Hicksy probably would if she was still alive. You never knew her, did you?" "No, she was before my time," Karen replied, taking a long drag and wondering just where this obscure little scenario was going. 

"Shell, you didn't come here to talk about the past," She said eventually, hoping that John would take the hint and stay silent. "When your son died," Shell said carefully, realising that she was treading on very thin ice with this one. "Denny sent me a piece out of the newspaper about it. She thought I'd want to see it, seeing as it was about you. It reminded me that I had a son out there somewhere, growing up knowing sod all about me, not that there is much to know. So, I started not taking the pills they gave me, because I can't think when I'm all doped up. I wanted to get out, because I thought you might be able to help me see him again." There was a stunned, awful silence. Karen just stared at her, all her feelings of hurt and grief over Ross rising to the surface. She couldn't believe what Shell was asking of her. Here she was, a psychopathic murderer, currently incarcerated in a special psychiatric hospital, asking her, Karen, to help this woman obtain access to her defenseless son. This was the professional part of Karen, the part that screamed no, no, never in a million years! But then there was the quieter, perhaps more insidious part of her, the area of her mind that was making her feel all the instinctive call of a mother blindly searching in the barren wilderness for her lost child. Karen could feel that tug, that sharp pain in her heart that entirely understood the tiny fragment of real maternal instinct that did reside within this woman sitting at her table. 

John quietly observed the mental struggle going on within Karen's brain, the flickering expressions that crossed her face saying everything. He could see the battle between the professional and the grieving mother, the tormented, raging effort it was taking for the professional responsibility to take over once more. "When did you last see him?" Karen asked, knowing this was a pretty pointless question, but badly needing to buy herself some time. "You know when I last saw him," Shell said almost bitterly. "On the night that bastard Hedges thought he'd get more than his money's worth. Even Fenner knew better than to come looking for a shag just after I'd had a baby." John winced. "Only Fenner decided to get his wanker of a mate off the hook instead, and made out I tried to smother my own baby. You know I didn't do that, don't you, Miss." "Yes," Karen said quietly without hesitation, never having doubted this for a moment. She didn't know why, except that she really couldn't believe that Shell would try to kill her own child. "What about the family he's living with? Haven't they ever written to you?" "No, the social reckon they've asked them to write to me, maybe send me some pictures, but they haven't. Guess they don't want to know their little boy's psycho mother." "Do you ever hear from Kayley and Dena?" Karen asked, referring to Shell's other two children. "No, not since I got them taken into care," Shell replied dejectedly. "I know they're better off where they are, but at least when they was living with my mum I used to get photos and letters sometimes. I would never forgive myself if she'd got her hands on Kayley and Dena an' all." "You still blame her for an awful lot, don't you," Karen said quietly, taking a little reprieve in having moved Shell away from the salient subject. "Too right," Shell said disgustedly. "She took away some of the best years of my life by turning me into this." Then, glancing over at John, she said, "You know something, Judge, you wouldn't have thought that our Governor Betts here had it in her to rip someone's head off, would you. But on the day she met my mum, I think my mum got off lightly with just a look." "Ripping people's heads off isn't usually part of the job description, Shell," Karen said with the faintest of smiles. "Yeah? You didn't see the look on your face," Shell told her with a smirk. "But I didn't come here to talk about my tart of a mother. Miss, I really need you to help me see my kid again." 

Mentally giving herself a shake, Karen dove in head first, knowing that she would be lucky to escape with a concussion. "You know I can't do that, Shell," She said carefully, some inner sense of honesty forbidding her to lie. "Why?" Shell demanded, sounding hurt, emotionally wounded and belligerent all in one go. "Because I think we both know that it isn't going to happen," Karen told her quietly. "Not where you are now." "So help me get out of there," Shell pleaded with her. "Get them to send me back to Larkhall." "I might be Larkhall's governor," Karen said, desperately trying to keep her voice even. "But it doesn't give me a magic wand. Even if you were transferred back to Larkhall, which we both know is highly unlikely, social services would never let you anywhere near your son." "So that's it?" Shell asked miserably, sounding as though the very life had gone out of her. "Yes," Karen said, equally dejected, feeling a complete traitor for doing this, yet knowing that it had to be done. It wouldn't do Shell any good to be lied to, even if it might have made the immediate situation more palatable. "No," Shell said, getting to her feet just as the tears rose to her eyes. "That can't be it. You can't just say no and leave it at that. You don't understand, I've got to see him. My kids are the only decent thing that ever happened to me." "Yes, I do understand, believe me," Karen tried to calm her down, knowing that she really did feel Shell's maternal call. "You can't," Shell insisted vehemently. "If you did, you wouldn't be doing this." "Shell," Karen said, gradually moving towards her. "Don't you think I have those very same regrets every single day of my life? Because I can promise you that I most certainly do." 

Standing in front of Shell now, Karen put her arms out to her, gently holding the taut, rigid body against her, allowing Shell to, just for a moment, think she was being comforted. Then, as fast as lightning, Karen turned Shell round, fished the handcuffs out of her skirt pocket, and had them snapped on Shell's wrists before she could blink. Shell struggled, trying to wrench herself out of Karen's grip, but Karen held fast to her hands, which were now tied, behind her back. "Let, me, go!" Shell hissed through gritted teeth. "Only if you calm down," Karen told her firmly. Seeing that Karen could use some help, John rose from the sofa to come to her assistance, but Karen waved him off. "Don't, John," She said, not wanting him to come within range of Shell's far too agile feet. "Though you might like to call the police," Karen added almost as an afterthought. As John moved to the phone and made the necessary call, Karen very gradually relinquished her hold on Shell's wrists, so that eventually she could turn to face Karen, the hurt and betrayal far too visible on her face. "Why did you have to do that?" She asked, sounding just like the lost child, whose parent had just committed the most heinous of all crimes. "I had to, Shell, you know I did," Karen told her quietly, eyeing her for the slightest movement. When John had replaced the receiver, informing them that the police were on their way, Karen said, "Right, now I think I'd better find out what you're carrying, don't you." "I ain't carrying anything to hurt anyone," Shell insisted. "Well, let's see, shall we," Karen said, clearly not believing her. But as she began to run her hands clinically over Shell's torso, giving her the usual once over that visitors received when entering Larkhall, Shell couldn't quite hold back the jibes. "Denny said you were into touching up girls as well as men these days," Receiving a glare of monumental proportions for her trouble, plus a twitch in Karen's right hand that showed the extreme restraint she was being forced to exert, in order not to give in and slap Shell's face for her. "Shut up," She said bitterly, her residual hurt over George rising to the surface with this remark. "Tut, tut," Shell mocked. "A prison governor just itching to slap a prisoner. What a bloody surprise." Reaching the uniform skirt, Karen dug her hands into the pockets, coming out with a pass card for the nurse in question, a folded tissue, and a page of newsprint of all things. Smoothing it out, Karen saw that it was the clipping of what had been put in the press at the time of Ross's suicide. "Is this what Denny sent you?" She asked, waving the paper in Shell's face. "So?" Shell demanded, unwilling to be remotely helpful at this stage. But what caught Karen's eye was a small section of rogue writing at one corner of the page. In small, almost unobtrusive letters were the precise details of her home address. "Who in god's name wrote this?" Karen asked in horror. "How the hell did you get your hands on my home address?" "I don't know," Shell told her, and Karen could see that she was speaking the truth. "It ain't Denny's writing, I know that much, and not even the Julies could get their hands on a PO's address, so it wasn't a con who wrote it." "I think I'll be keeping this," Karen said, slipping the paper into the drawer of the sideboard behind her. "And God help whoever it was when I find them." Karen then turned her attention to the small, blue handbag Shell had brought with her. "This yours?" She asked, picking it up from the table. "No, it belongs to the silly cow whose clothes I'm wearing." Rifling through it, Karen found a purse, some make up, a mobile phone, and thrusting her hand to the bottom, she emerged with a bunch of keys. "Don't tell me you actually drove here?" Karen said in complete astonishment. "How else was I supposed to get here?" Shell asked disgustedly. "Ashmoor's right out in the sticks, isn't it. I ain't driven since Amsterdam, but it's like shagging some witless bloke, you never forget how." 

Just then, they heard the approach of a police siren, the familiar wail causing Shell to look this way and that, obviously searching for somewhere to run, somewhere to hide. "I wouldn't bother," Karen told her gently. "I can't believe you did this to me," Shell said, turning on Karen and looking both angry and hurt. "What possible choice did I have?" Karen asked her. "I couldn't just let you walk out of here as though nothing had happened." Shell was visibly crying when John let the police in, and Karen groaned when she saw who it was. "Oh, great, not you two," Karen said, eyeing DI Sullivan and his sidekick Greer with disdain. "Oh, good morning to you too, Miss Betts," Sullivan greeted her jovially. "I see you've got a lovely little escapee for me." "None of your usual bullshit, please, Sullivan, it's too early in the morning," Karen told him dismissively. "Well, well, well," Sullivan said, moving over to Shell and looking her up and down as Greer exchanged Karen's handcuffs for her own. "Michelle Dockley, wonders will never cease. I think we'd better be getting you back to your nice, warm, heavily sedated bed, don't you?" "No, you ain't sending me back there," Shell pleaded, the horror of being force fed medication again all too real for her. "Miss, please, can't you at least get them to take me back to Larkhall." "I don't think so, sweetheart," Sullivan said harshly, gesturing to Greer to take her downstairs. But before Shell gave into the Sergeant, she stopped beside Karen. "I'm sorry, Miss," She said, the tears now running down her cheeks. "I'm sorry too, Shell," Karen told her gently, really feeling as though she'd let her down. "And I promise, in a little while, I'll come and see you." "And Miss," Shell said, ignoring Greer's attempts to get her to move. "Don't keep cutting, because it don't get you nowhere, I should know that, and you don't want to end up like me, burning yourself with fag ends because it's easier than dealing with what's going on in here," She gestured to her forehead. "You ain't like me, you're worth more than that, even if you can't help me get my kids back." 

When Shell and the police had gone, Karen moved immediately to the sideboard, and taking no heed of the fact that it was almost five in the morning, poured herself an enormous scotch. As she took a hefty swig, John moved over to her, and after taking the glass from her, he tried to put his arms round her, but Karen moved away. She couldn't bear anyone else's touch right at this moment, almost feeling as though she didn't deserve it. "You did the right thing, you know," John told her quietly, seeing the level of sheer torment in her face. "Did I?" Karen asked dejectedly. "I'm not so sure. I swear that was one of the worst things I have ever had to do, tell someone that they will probably never see their children again. I was her last hope. That's why she came to me, because she knew that I was the only one who would give her so much as the time of day, and what did I do, but shatter every shred of trust she once had in me." "Karen, you did your job," John told her gently but firmly. "You couldn't possibly do anything else." "Then what does that say for my job?" Karen asked disgustedly. "What does that really say for all the professionalism in the whole bloody world? I'll tell you what it says, absolutely nothing. John, right at this moment, I despise my job and everything it stands for, because in spite of the fact that I know precisely what Shell Dockley has always been and probably always will be capable of, I totally understand what she's going through. I'm not saying it's rational, because I know it isn't, but that's how I feel. I once tried so hard to get her to trust me, and it worked, because she told me things that she never told anyone else, not in her entire time in Larkhall, and I've just gone and betrayed it." Seeming to run out of steam, Karen sank down onto the sofa and lit a cigarette. Sitting down next to her, John said, "I was immensely proud of the way you handled her. I don't think I could have been so calm." "Well, I didn't just have my safety to worry about, did I," Karen said almost dismissively. "Shell would never have hurt me, but she could easily have hurt you. I am well acquainted with every little thing she's ever done, remember, and I also had the far too vivid memories of what she and Denny did, the time they escaped and broke into Sylvia's house. So believe me, staying calm, and lulling her into a false sense of security was the only option. Yes, I managed to keep you safe, which at the end of the day is what really matters, but that doesn't mean I can feel especially proud of it. I have a horrible feeling that Shell will eventually have the last word on this, and Shell's last words are always pretty deadly." 


	45. Chapter 45

Part Forty-Five

The police station was alive with the usual morning hubbub of people coming and going, the early morning regulars in the waiting room awaiting the bored police sergeant to work his way through the two drivers who had been asked to produce their driving documents and the third man who was asking after his brother who was in the cells after having been arrested. Upstairs, the superintendent strolled into the cramped office where the eager beaver investigators were either hunched up over their computers or rifling through various crime files. They all snapped to attention "DI Sullivan, can you take yourself with DC Greer to Larkhall prison. We need a statement taken from Karen Betts seeing as you arrested Michelle Dockley in her house." His expression fell a mile and DC Greer looked hardly more enthusiastic.  
"Can't somebody else go instead of me? I've got a number of more important cases to chase up," He stammered, shuffling desperately with his papers.  
"You go where I send you and finish the job off properly. I'm not having you take all the glory on operations and leave others to do the clearing up. Seeing as you're our local expert on Larkhall, you'll know that she's the governing governor now"  
D I Sullivan's expression twisted as if he's swallowed a bone. He remembered the way that her subtle sarcasm had always rubbed him up the wrong way and yesterday was no exception, even at the most unfavourable circumstances. "She can't be. I thought she was a snotty wing governor still"  
"The very same"  
"There isn't any possibility that the statement will be needed as testimony in court?" he hazarded a question very tentatively." Court cases can take up so much of our time in hanging round courtrooms when there's all the villains in this patch that need to be banged to rights." "If an escaped prisoner has been apprehended and there's no major crime involved, then you probably won't be needed. Still, from the basic details we have, you and she will be on the same side. You've got the ideal opportunity with your natural Scottish charm to cement good relationships between us and the governor of the local nick. With your previous experience of prison investigations history, that's why I'm insisting that you do the job and nobody else"  
DI Sullivan smiled wanly as the other man's insufferably breezy manner was starting to grate on him. His limp fingers reluctantly accepted the file thrust in his direction as if it were leprous. With longing looks at his dull as ditchwater post, he hauled himself to his feet, looked meaningfully at DS Greer and made his way to the door. Sometime, the path of duty was strewn with rocks and snares. Someone said that a policeman's lot was not a happy one and he was too bloody right.  
Inside the neat new file in his briefcase, the envelope that had been addressed to Shell was secure inside its polythene sleeve. DI Sullivan slouched up to the nice bright white squad car with aggressive red flashes on the side and prominent blue light on top. He gunned the engine aggressively and the car shot out of the car park with a slightly nervous DS Greer in the passenger seat. She wasn't looking forward to the journey far less the visit but she figured that if she kept a low profile, then the better off she would be. Let him take the glory of this investigation or otherwise as the case may be.

DI Sullivan was more superior in his manner than normal from the moment he passed through the gates of Larkhall. As soon as the man had started to cross the yard, Ken muttered to himself about the jumped up young copper who thought he was God. Ken was getting to the age when there were an increasingly large number of policemen around who looked wet behind the ears.

"Hi, I'm Nikki Wade, wing governor of G Wing." The smart suited woman greeted him with hand outstretched and let him know that yet another upstart woman was wearing the trousers in a profession that he thought was run by the lads. The name tripwired his mind into searching past distant associations. With a job like this, it paid to have a sharp memory. Then he made that explosive connection between her and his old mate, DS Gossard, one of the legends of his time, a man's man and someone who set him on the right path when he joined the police force. He was the one all the others looked up to in the way he got results with single-minded determination.  
"Haven't I heard of your name before? It rings a very loud bell. I have a good memory for names." He declared in a meaning tone. Nikki's normally friendly smile became frozen, icy. Her hackles rose immediately and adrenaline started to pump through her body. She knew exactly what this copper was getting at. This was the first time ever since she had killed Gossard that it had ever been mentioned in any capacity. Ancient feelings of blind anger started to well to the surface but she had been just about long enough in her job to bottle them down. He was, after all, entering her home territory and, like it or not, he was in her charge until she handed him over to someone else. "You flatter me, DI Sullivan. I'm not as famous as all that." The policeman scowled in frustration as this bloody woman refused to rise to the bait. Never mind, he thought, his chance would come.  
"You had better come this way as I understand you're here to interview my governor, Karen Betts." Nikki said quietly, delicately pressing home her advantage.  
She got out her keys and led the way. She let them through the first set of gates and walked on ahead. To her shock and horror, he walked up behind her and grabbed her by the wrist.  
"Trying to be smart and clever? I know you. You were the murdering dyke who killed DI Gossard. You got banged to rights and deserved everything you got only some lily livered liberals let you get out on a technicality. You're remembered at my station all right"  
Nikki shook herself free and turned round squarely to face him. She ignored his sidekick, DS Greer who stood there like a dummy.  
"Except Sally Ann Howe…….." Nikki said with surprisingly icy calm even though she was boiling with anger. The last man who laid a hand on her arm was that bastard Fenner.  
"Never mind, she doesn't count." He said sullenly.

"You know, inspector, I get to look through the files of all the female inmates on my wing." Nikki started to retort in clipped official tones. This sudden borrowing of Helen's wing governor style instantly made her feel strong and good about herself. Instinctively, she realized that this was a far stronger card to play than blind anger. Why lower herself to his level, a calm voice reasoned inside her head.  
" We get women who have been through the due process of law on a whole range of offences, you name it, we get them. Did you know that there is a remarkably high incidence of sexual abuse in the files something that should really shock you as it does me? Like you, we get to see the underside of society but that's because a lot of the women have never had a proper chance in life. It might surprise you that while Karen and I have used prison as an opportunity to educate inmates, we're getting better results in reducing reoffending because we show them that there are alternatives in life. The problem is that we are fighting a difficult uphill battle to put right the damage done to them from an early age by some men whose sexual morality leaves just a little bit to be desired. Then again, the thought crosses my mind that rape happens at all levels of society, including the guilty ones in positions of power who are never brought to justice but should have been. They don't even get hauled up for internal disciplinary action. I can think of one institution that has been lax to the point of being criminally negligent. Ring any bells, does it?" DC Greer stared down at her feet while Nikki shriveled her boss with scathing words and eyes that burned into him before she saw her turn to address her in quiet friendly tones. "By the way, DS Greer, you ought to be very careful in putting yourself in a dangerous position in just the same way that my staff have to. Only in your case, the risk might come from your side. It's happened before." Those ominous words made DI Sullivan blush and feel uncomfortable. His heavy-handed approach in insinuation during interrogations had been turned back on him in double measure. It made him squirm.

Nonchalantly, Nikki calmly turned her way to open the second set of gates and escorted them to Karen's office. Just before knocking on the door, she turned to him.  
"I'm going to think very seriously about lodging an official complaint at your unprofessional behaviour. At the very least, don't you dare cross me again. It isn't safe. I would strongly advise you two to be at your most professional and respectful to Karen Betts. She won't be in a mood to tolerate anything less than this. You ring me when you're done and I'll see you off the premises"  
Her withering look of contempt finishing off with that crack of almost military authority pierced clean through the man's defences. He was visibly nervous and sweating at the dressing down he had been apologetic. Vengeance is mine, saieth the Lord, Nikki thought, as she walked away with a lighter heart. She had rerun her victory over Gossard in terms that were personally satisfying, as she had beaten him at his own game.

"Come in." Karen called out wearily to the very polite knock on the door. She thought she had heard some raised voices far away but decided that in her fogged state of mind, she must have been mistaken.  
"Oh, its you two, is it? Very well, you can take a seat"  
She had lost a fair chunk of her normal night's sleep and that alone had made her feel totally wretched. It was for this reason that she had agreed to the interview to just get everything out of the way so she could dismiss it after it was committed to paper. As she was slower off the mark than usual, it took her a little while to realize that the truculent Scot was visibly ingratiating himself, in his general manner and that he had scuttled in. Most unusually, a smile appeared on his lips in response to her weary greeting She didn't get it. Last night, he had been his usual bumptious, aggressive self, and heard all he needed to hear about the row of scars that lined and shamed her forearms. It ought to have put her at an immediate disadvantage in being hardly better, in his oh so superior eyes, than the woman on whose wrists he had gleefully snapped his handcuffs. It was as if the nasty, aggressive scalp hunter had been spirited away and his doppelganger had inherited his suit, his skin but an entirely different personality had taken him over. DS Greer walked in, as meek as a lamb but that was nothing new. She was always the passive part of his double act, to be there to bounce his sarcasm off at his chosen victim. "I hope that you are feeling up to being interviewed. If it's too much for you and you want us to come back another day, You've only got to say and we'll work round you"  
Karen was more puzzled than ever and flipped out a cigarette. Wordlessly, she offered the pack to the other two who politely declined. She needed that intake of nicotine to ready herself for what lay ahead of her.  
"So can you tell me in your words what happened to you that night that Shell Dockley broke in. Take your time"  
A caring sharing DI Sullivan, I just don't get it, she thought.  
"Just before I start, I ought to say how pleased I am that your attitude has changed for the better since you were last here"  
"I understood from your wing governor that I might have been a little bit tactless. I'm always willing to improve customer relations." He gushed forth, remembering in the nick of time, the instruction to "cement good relationships." It might earn him a few brownie points to lay it on thick, as he wouldn't put it past that dangerous woman to grass him up to his boss. She scared the shit out of him.  
"Oh, and who was that?" Karen asked vaguely.  
"Nikki Wade"  
A light bulb was switched on in her head and she had to fight down that irresistible urge for a huge grin to spread across her face from ear to ear. She made a mental note to ask Nikki for her side of the story.  
"I'm sure I can rely on your good will. Anyway, back to business." She added more briskly than usual. Her spirits had been uplifted but she was pessimistic just how long this feeling of well being would last, probably the day if she were lucky. She certainly had a nasty taste in her mouth last night at the way she had lured Shell into a false sense of security.

More surprisingly, her mind drifted freely back to when she was chatting away to Shell Dockley, almost as if they were old friends and she talked freely of what had happened. She verbalised these recollections straight off mental images of what she saw and words that she somehow remembered. DI Sullivan listened intently and scrawled a few notes in his notebook ready for when he would cast it into statement form. She talked about her ultimate in flat, factual, throwaway phrases. When she was done, she searched for something to lose her thought processes until inspiration finally came to the rescue.  
"Tell me, inspector, I have the newspaper cutting that Shell showed me with my home address on it. Was there an envelope to go with it"  
She slid the news cutting across to DI Sullivan to scrutinize. He scanned the article and also the writing on it. This answered the question that had been in his mind from the word go. Ordinarily, he would have grilled Karen for an explanation at the very first opportunity but Nikki had scared him into holding back. It did not occur to him that, by doing so, the missing evidence had come to hand of its own volition without him using his normal bullyboy tactics.  
"There might have been." He answered evasively. In his mind's eye was the blistering fury of those brown eyes, which had pierced through him. He really didn't want to blot his copybook. Better by far that the information slipped out, no names, no pack drill.  
"I know that this writing wasn't Shell Dockley's. What about the writing on the envelope"  
"I couldn't possibly comment, Miss." He answered a little defensively.  
That means that I'm right, she clicked her thoughts together with the last reserves of mental strength. It prompted the next question.  
"Have you got the envelope to hand? I might help both of us to see it"  
He sighed to himself as he gave way to the inevitable. Wordlessly, he slid the envelope from his file and laid it on the table. The evidence was plain to see. "Tell me, DI Sullivan," Karen pursued. "Don't you think that the writing on the envelope is exactly the same as the writing on the newspaper cutting"  
"I'm not a handwriting expert, Miss but you could say so." DI Sullivan replied, shrugging his shoulders non committally. He felt as if he were once again on the witness stand with a powerful female barrister pinning him relentlessly down with razor sharp questions. All he needed was the memory of that judge whose thunderous anger had reverberated round that court building and made him only too willing to get out of it while the going was good. While her eyelids threatened to droop down over her eyes, Karen smiled faintly with satisfaction. She was sure that the answer to the puzzle was in her hands.  
"Might I keep the envelope? I think that I have need of it for an internal investigation as to how come Shell Dockley received the letter in the first place"  
This threw the inspector into a state of confusion. He was by no means sure if Shell Dockley would end up being charged with an offence more than breaking and entering, especially as she was already locked up at Ashmoor. He was less sure that the business of the letter was a police matter at all.  
"I tell you what, Miss. I'll keep the envelope for now until I am sure if it is needed but you are at liberty to keep the article while you conduct your investigations. If there's a change of plan, I'll phone you or you'll phone me. We ought to work together on this one"  
Karen was totally dazed by what she had heard. The interview was becoming more surreal by the moment. Eventually, she nodded her agreement before he proceeded to finally wrap up the interview.

"Erm. Miss Betts, I'll just write out the statement for a few minutes based on what you've just told me. If I've got anything wrong, just tell me"  
Karen's mind threatened to drift into dreamland while DI Sullivan scribbled down furiously. Eventually, he stopped and passed the statement pad to her. She ran her eye over it. It met the facts accurately but left out what was most important to her, her frantic desire to protect John from a very unpredictable Shell Dockley, her curious conversation with her, her very real desire to help her and comfort her and her guilty knowledge that she must betray her and Shell's last minute act of generosity to her which made her feel ashamed and disgusted with herself. Apart from that, it was an accurate statement.

She picked up her pen and scrawled her signature at the bottom while DI Sullivan countersigned it. He had got what he wanted.

"If you don't mind me, I'll be off to the station. If there's any need for further action, you'll be hearing from us"  
"Sure," she answered. "I'll ask Nikki Wade to escort you back to the gatehouse"  
She was too tired and drained by now to react to the way he flinched at the name. She was past caring. 


	46. Chapter 46

Betaed by Jen.

Part Forty-Seven

Towards the end of the working day, Karen knew she was flagging. She'd only had a couple of hours sleep last night, and now sleep was really the only thing she wanted. It was far too tempting for her to just lay her head down on the desk, and allow the exhaustion to completely take her over. When Nikki's knock came on her office door, Karen was heartily grateful for the distraction. 

"You look knackered," Nikki said gently, seeing just how much everything had finally caught up with Karen. "Mmm," Karen yawned. "It's only a thought," Nikki said carefully. "But would you like to stay with me and Helen for a couple of days, just until your flat is made secure again? I've asked Helen, and she says it's fine if that's what you want to do." Karen was almost unbearably touched by the kindness in Nikki's eyes, the true, sincere friendship shining out of them. "Are you sure?" Karen asked, suddenly feeling the urge to cry her eyes out. "Of course we are," Nikki assured her with a smile. "Come on, you need a huge drink and an evening of doing absolutely nothing." Switching off her computer and locking her office door, Karen couldn't help but agree with her. 

They called in at Karen's flat on the way home, so that she could pick up some clothes and other necessities. When they arrived, Helen was already there, opening a bottle of wine after putting clean sheets on the spare bed. "You look tired," She said when Karen and Nikki appeared in the lounge. "I feel as though I've been awake for a month," Karen said dryly, sinking down into the depths of a large armchair. Helen poured them all a glass of wine, and Nikki put on some soft, undemanding music. "So, how is Shell?" Helen asked, lighting a cigarette. "Still the same as ever," Karen told them, taking a drag of her own. "Though the way she snuck out of Ashmoor was really quite ingenious." When she'd filled them in as to the details, Nikki said, "Jesus, that's even better than the way she escaped when she broke into Bodybag's house." Karen smiled, hearing the slip of the tongue, presumably brought on by Nikki talking of a time when she'd still been an inmate. "John thought he could frighten her by telling her that he was a high court judge," Karen told them, receiving a raised eyebrow from Helen. "The judge was there?" Helen asked in astonishment, not having been aware of this. "Yes," Karen replied, realising too late that she probably oughtn't to have revealed this. "Please don't look at me like that, Helen," She added, seeing the seeds of suspicion growing behind Helen's eyes. "He stayed as a friend, nothing more." "Why did she do it?" Nikki asked, wanting to change the subject slightly. "She wanted me to help her get her son back." "God, Karen," Helen said with feeling, knowing how difficult this would have been. "Yeah, not quite what I was expecting early this morning, I must admit. I knew that I had to keep her talking, because I kept having visions of her doing to John what she'd done to Fenner." "Karen," Helen asked her carefully. "Why was the judge there?" "Why is that important?" Karen asked in return, not really knowing of any vaguely believable answer. "I'm not sure," Helen said indecisively. "I just get the feeling that it is." "How about I go and make us some dinner?" Nikki put in, seeing all too clearly what Helen was doing, and suddenly not wanting to be a part of it. "I'm not desperately hungry," Karen told her, as Nikki moved towards the kitchen. 

"You're hiding something, Karen," Helen continued gently, fixing Karen with a soft but penetrating gaze. "I think you have been for a while now." Sending a glare of monumental proportions towards the kitchen, in the knowledge that Nikki must have shared her concerns with Helen, Karen desperately tried to maintain her control. "Please don't go there, Helen," Karen said quietly, knowing that Helen would have a fit if she found out her secret. "And just how much good do you think keeping it all inside is really doing you?" Helen asked just as seriously. "Helen, please," Karen almost begged her. "It's quite bad enough that John knows about this, without you and Nikki, someone I work with, knowing about this as well." Feeling that Helen really was going a bit over the top with this line of enquiry, Nikki moved into the kitchen doorway to speak to her. She could hear the note of panic in Karen's voice, and couldn't help but think that she'd been wrong to tell Helen of her concerns in the first place. If Karen didn't want to talk, then she should be accorded the same right to privacy as anyone else. "Helen, leave it, yeah?" She put in quietly, bringing Helen's gaze briefly on her. "Interestingly sound advice from one usually so persistent," Karen replied dryly, seeing that Nikki was beginning to regret her previous inquisitiveness. "Karen, I can't help being worried about you," Helen told her, for the moment ignoring Nikki's tentative request. "I know," Karen answered resignedly. "But believe me, you really don't want to know why I've barely been able to keep it together lately." "Why not try me?" Helen persisted gently, making Karen want to roll her eyes at Helen's drive to succeed. "Are you that determined to make me tell you?" Karen demanded, now really beginning to lose her cool. "Do you really want to know so badly?" "No, I probably don't," Helen admitted ruefully. "But the longer you keep it to yourself, the less chance you have of dealing with it." "Fine," Karen replied a little exasperatedly. "But don't you dare even think of being angry with me for this, and don't say I didn't warn you." Unbuttoning her left sleeve, she rolled it up, and held her arm out for Helen to see. A dressing still covered the most recent cut from the day before, but the old scars were far too evident. Helen might have known that Karen had been doing this to herself, but it was still a shock to see it in the flesh. Seeing the look of combined grief and horror in Helen's face, Karen turned her eyes away, suddenly unable to look at either of them. She felt broken, shattered, as though the tiniest fragments of her self-esteem were now scattered over a wide area, unable to reassemble. She could feel the tears of exhaustion and bitter resignation begin coursing down her cheeks, and this made her feel even less of her old self than she had before. 

Moving to perch on the arm of the chair, Helen put her arms round her, wanting to in some way apologise for how she had cajoled Karen into sharing her secret. Seeing that Helen had finally broken through Karen's defences, Nikki moved to her other side to do the same. "I'm sorry," Karen told them, trying to stem the flow of her tears. "I didn't want to have to do that," Helen tried to explain, her own throat feeling full of emotion. "But I had to persuade you to talk to me." "John would be proud of you," Karen said a little shakily, causing Helen to go momentarily still. "You can be just as persistent as he is when you try." Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Helen reflected that John would probably have her guts for garters for doing this to Karen if he knew. "I tried to explain to him, that sometimes, it's just something I need to do, something that helps me to stay sane." "Only it isn't really working, is it," Nikki said quietly, gently taking Karen's left hand in hers. "I knew you were picking up on it," Karen said ruefully. "But it wasn't something I could just come out and tell you. Sometimes, the feeling of panic becomes so strong that I feel as though I'm suffocating. The first time I did it, certainly wasn't a conscious decision, but after that, it became far too easy." "Sweetheart, you can't keep on doing this," Helen told her seriously. "Because we both know it'll only get worse." "I don't think I know how to stop," Karen admitted bleakly, feeling more weak and pathetic every minute. "Whenever you feel like doing this again," Nikki said firmly. "You call me, or Helen, or even the judge, and instead of cutting, you talk. I might not know much about this, but I do know that that's the only way you can even think about stopping." "Nikki's absolutely right, you know," Helen said with pride in her voice. "It doesn't matter what time of the day or night it is, you just do it." 

They were all fairly quiet as they ate, each of them lost in their own thoughts, though it couldn't be said that these thoughts were very different. Karen was feeling extremely brittle, inwardly trying to gather the tattered shreds of her self-respect. Helen was wondering just how to go about helping one of her closest friends, and Nikki couldn't help wondering if Helen really had done the right thing in persuading Karen to talk to them. But when Karen had eaten half of her serving of pasta smothered in Dolmio sauce, her mobile rang. Balancing her plate on her knee, Helen and Nikki's flat not possessing a dining table, she dug her phone out of her handbag. "Karen, it's Neil," Came the familiar deep voice. "You've got that tone of voice that says you're bearing bad news," Karen answered him immediately. "What's happened?" "I've just had a call from someone I know who works at Ashmoor. He called me, because he couldn't track you down at Larkhall. It's about Shell." "Neil, please, just get on with it," Karen urged him, feeling that terrible ice-cold suspicion crawling up her spine. "She's killed herself," Neil told her bleakly, really not knowing how to break this particular piece of news gently. After a long, thoughtful silence, Karen surprised him with, "I wish I could say that came as a shock, but it doesn't. How did she do it?" "She hung herself. Ashmoor will be having an enquiry to find out how." "Well, I can certainly tell them why," Karen told him resignedly. "She threatened to do exactly that not long after I became governor of G wing, but I won't go into that now. Thank you for telling me." "Karen, are you all right?" Neil asked in concern, hearing the brittle edge of bitter resignation in her voice. "Oh, I'm absolutely bloody marvelous," Karen told him dryly. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

When she'd switched off the phone, Helen and Nikki stared at her, waiting for her to explain. "Was that about Dockley?" Nikki asked, stating the obvious. "Yes," Karen said regretfully. "She's dead. She hung herself earlier this evening." "Jesus," Nikki replied in shock. "Karen, you told Grayling that you weren't surprised," Helen said, not immediately reacting to the news itself. "I'm not," Karen told her bleakly. "I was Shell's last hope, the last person whom she thought might be in a position to help her. After I'd said no, I think she thought she had nothing else left. I remember when she once threatened to do it. She was stood up on the 3s, calling Fenner to come and string her up like Rachel Hicks." "That wasn't long after I came back, was it," Helen said in realisation. "No, not really," Karen agreed with her. "Did she leave a note?" Nikki asked. "Not that I'm aware of," Karen told her. "And to be honest, I wouldn't want to see it even if she had. Right now, I can just about cling onto the possibility that I didn't cause her to do this, but to see her blame me in writing would be a bit much." 

A good while later when Karen had gone for a long soak in the bath, wanting some space to sort out her thoughts, Helen lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "I wish this was a joint," She said with a slight smile. "Since when did you smoke dope?" Nikki asked in astonishment. "Only once," Helen told her with a laugh at her expression. "With Thomas." "So, I wasn't the only one to lead you astray," Nikki said, putting an arm round her. "You've led me far more astray than anyone I've ever known," Helen told her seriously, her eyes briefly betraying all the love she felt for Nikki. "Helen, what you did to Karen," Nikki said slowly, not wanting to break the mood but knowing that she had to say this. "It was pretty brutal." "I know," Helen said regretfully. "But I had to do it. I couldn't just let her carry on cutting when I knew precisely what she was up to, without at least trying to find out why." "It was the Judge who told you, wasn't it," Nikki said, finally putting the pieces together. "Yeah, he did," Helen admitted quietly. "And you said that you found out about this during a session," Nikki continued. "Which therefore tells me that you've been seeing the Judge as a patient." "Well done, Miss Marple," Helen said with a smile, leaning forward to gently kiss her. "But you must keep it to yourself, because he definitely wouldn't want you or anyone else to know, and I can do without losing my job, because of breaking patient confidentiality. He's been to see me three times now, and I'm learning more about some of our friends that I really want to know." "But why, Helen?" Nikki asked again, the issue of John's being a patient hardly important. "Why did you have to go at her so ruthlessly? You could see it was tearing her to shreds, yet you still kept on at her." "Nikki," Helen said a little exasperatedly. "I am not letting someone else die, just because I didn't do what was right all along." 


	47. Chapter 47

Part Forty-Seven

Towards the end of the working day, Karen knew she was flagging. She'd only had a couple of hours sleep last night, and now sleep was really the only thing she wanted. It was far too tempting for her to just lay her head down on the desk, and allow the exhaustion to completely take her over. When Nikki's knock came on her office door, Karen was heartily grateful for the distraction. 

"You look knackered," Nikki said gently, seeing just how much everything had finally caught up with Karen. "Mmm," Karen yawned. "It's only a thought," Nikki said carefully. "But would you like to stay with me and Helen for a couple of days, just until your flat is made secure again? I've asked Helen, and she says it's fine if that's what you want to do." Karen was almost unbearably touched by the kindness in Nikki's eyes, the true, sincere friendship shining out of them. "Are you sure?" Karen asked, suddenly feeling the urge to cry her eyes out. "Of course we are," Nikki assured her with a smile. "Come on, you need a huge drink and an evening of doing absolutely nothing." Switching off her computer and locking her office door, Karen couldn't help but agree with her. 

They called in at Karen's flat on the way home, so that she could pick up some clothes and other necessities. When they arrived, Helen was already there, opening a bottle of wine after putting clean sheets on the spare bed. "You look tired," She said when Karen and Nikki appeared in the lounge. "I feel as though I've been awake for a month," Karen said dryly, sinking down into the depths of a large armchair. Helen poured them all a glass of wine, and Nikki put on some soft, undemanding music. "So, how is Shell?" Helen asked, lighting a cigarette. "Still the same as ever," Karen told them, taking a drag of her own. "Though the way she snuck out of Ashmoor was really quite ingenious." When she'd filled them in as to the details, Nikki said, "Jesus, that's even better than the way she escaped when she broke into Bodybag's house." Karen smiled, hearing the slip of the tongue, presumably brought on by Nikki talking of a time when she'd still been an inmate. "John thought he could frighten her by telling her that he was a high court judge," Karen told them, receiving a raised eyebrow from Helen. "The judge was there?" Helen asked in astonishment, not having been aware of this. "Yes," Karen replied, realising too late that she probably oughtn't to have revealed this. "Please don't look at me like that, Helen," She added, seeing the seeds of suspicion growing behind Helen's eyes. "He stayed as a friend, nothing more." "Why did she do it?" Nikki asked, wanting to change the subject slightly. "She wanted me to help her get her son back." "God, Karen," Helen said with feeling, knowing how difficult this would have been. "Yeah, not quite what I was expecting early this morning, I must admit. I knew that I had to keep her talking, because I kept having visions of her doing to John what she'd done to Fenner." "Karen," Helen asked her carefully. "Why was the judge there?" "Why is that important?" Karen asked in return, not really knowing of any vaguely believable answer. "I'm not sure," Helen said indecisively. "I just get the feeling that it is." "How about I go and make us some dinner?" Nikki put in, seeing all too clearly what Helen was doing, and suddenly not wanting to be a part of it. "I'm not desperately hungry," Karen told her, as Nikki moved towards the kitchen. 

"You're hiding something, Karen," Helen continued gently, fixing Karen with a soft but penetrating gaze. "I think you have been for a while now." Sending a glare of monumental proportions towards the kitchen, in the knowledge that Nikki must have shared her concerns with Helen, Karen desperately tried to maintain her control. "Please don't go there, Helen," Karen said quietly, knowing that Helen would have a fit if she found out her secret. "And just how much good do you think keeping it all inside is really doing you?" Helen asked just as seriously. "Helen, please," Karen almost begged her. "It's quite bad enough that John knows about this, without you and Nikki, someone I work with, knowing about this as well." Feeling that Helen really was going a bit over the top with this line of enquiry, Nikki moved into the kitchen doorway to speak to her. She could hear the note of panic in Karen's voice, and couldn't help but think that she'd been wrong to tell Helen of her concerns in the first place. If Karen didn't want to talk, then she should be accorded the same right to privacy as anyone else. "Helen, leave it, yeah?" She put in quietly, bringing Helen's gaze briefly on her. "Interestingly sound advice from one usually so persistent," Karen replied dryly, seeing that Nikki was beginning to regret her previous inquisitiveness. "Karen, I can't help being worried about you," Helen told her, for the moment ignoring Nikki's tentative request. "I know," Karen answered resignedly. "But believe me, you really don't want to know why I've barely been able to keep it together lately." "Why not try me?" Helen persisted gently, making Karen want to roll her eyes at Helen's drive to succeed. "Are you that determined to make me tell you?" Karen demanded, now really beginning to lose her cool. "Do you really want to know so badly?" "No, I probably don't," Helen admitted ruefully. "But the longer you keep it to yourself, the less chance you have of dealing with it." "Fine," Karen replied a little exasperatedly. "But don't you dare even think of being angry with me for this, and don't say I didn't warn you." Unbuttoning her left sleeve, she rolled it up, and held her arm out for Helen to see. A dressing still covered the most recent cut from the day before, but the old scars were far too evident. Helen might have known that Karen had been doing this to herself, but it was still a shock to see it in the flesh. Seeing the look of combined grief and horror in Helen's face, Karen turned her eyes away, suddenly unable to look at either of them. She felt broken, shattered, as though the tiniest fragments of her self-esteem were now scattered over a wide area, unable to reassemble. She could feel the tears of exhaustion and bitter resignation begin coursing down her cheeks, and this made her feel even less of her old self than she had before. 

Moving to perch on the arm of the chair, Helen put her arms round her, wanting to in some way apologise for how she had cajoled Karen into sharing her secret. Seeing that Helen had finally broken through Karen's defences, Nikki moved to her other side to do the same. "I'm sorry," Karen told them, trying to stem the flow of her tears. "I didn't want to have to do that," Helen tried to explain, her own throat feeling full of emotion. "But I had to persuade you to talk to me." "John would be proud of you," Karen said a little shakily, causing Helen to go momentarily still. "You can be just as persistent as he is when you try." Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Helen reflected that John would probably have her guts for garters for doing this to Karen if he knew. "I tried to explain to him, that sometimes, it's just something I need to do, something that helps me to stay sane." "Only it isn't really working, is it," Nikki said quietly, gently taking Karen's left hand in hers. "I knew you were picking up on it," Karen said ruefully. "But it wasn't something I could just come out and tell you. Sometimes, the feeling of panic becomes so strong that I feel as though I'm suffocating. The first time I did it, certainly wasn't a conscious decision, but after that, it became far too easy." "Sweetheart, you can't keep on doing this," Helen told her seriously. "Because we both know it'll only get worse." "I don't think I know how to stop," Karen admitted bleakly, feeling more weak and pathetic every minute. "Whenever you feel like doing this again," Nikki said firmly. "You call me, or Helen, or even the judge, and instead of cutting, you talk. I might not know much about this, but I do know that that's the only way you can even think about stopping." "Nikki's absolutely right, you know," Helen said with pride in her voice. "It doesn't matter what time of the day or night it is, you just do it." 

They were all fairly quiet as they ate, each of them lost in their own thoughts, though it couldn't be said that these thoughts were very different. Karen was feeling extremely brittle, inwardly trying to gather the tattered shreds of her self-respect. Helen was wondering just how to go about helping one of her closest friends, and Nikki couldn't help wondering if Helen really had done the right thing in persuading Karen to talk to them. But when Karen had eaten half of her serving of pasta smothered in Dolmio sauce, her mobile rang. Balancing her plate on her knee, Helen and Nikki's flat not possessing a dining table, she dug her phone out of her handbag. "Karen, it's Neil," Came the familiar deep voice. "You've got that tone of voice that says you're bearing bad news," Karen answered him immediately. "What's happened?" "I've just had a call from someone I know who works at Ashmoor. He called me, because he couldn't track you down at Larkhall. It's about Shell." "Neil, please, just get on with it," Karen urged him, feeling that terrible ice-cold suspicion crawling up her spine. "She's killed herself," Neil told her bleakly, really not knowing how to break this particular piece of news gently. After a long, thoughtful silence, Karen surprised him with, "I wish I could say that came as a shock, but it doesn't. How did she do it?" "She hung herself. Ashmoor will be having an enquiry to find out how." "Well, I can certainly tell them why," Karen told him resignedly. "She threatened to do exactly that not long after I became governor of G wing, but I won't go into that now. Thank you for telling me." "Karen, are you all right?" Neil asked in concern, hearing the brittle edge of bitter resignation in her voice. "Oh, I'm absolutely bloody marvelous," Karen told him dryly. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

When she'd switched off the phone, Helen and Nikki stared at her, waiting for her to explain. "Was that about Dockley?" Nikki asked, stating the obvious. "Yes," Karen said regretfully. "She's dead. She hung herself earlier this evening." "Jesus," Nikki replied in shock. "Karen, you told Grayling that you weren't surprised," Helen said, not immediately reacting to the news itself. "I'm not," Karen told her bleakly. "I was Shell's last hope, the last person whom she thought might be in a position to help her. After I'd said no, I think she thought she had nothing else left. I remember when she once threatened to do it. She was stood up on the 3s, calling Fenner to come and string her up like Rachel Hicks." "That wasn't long after I came back, was it," Helen said in realisation. "No, not really," Karen agreed with her. "Did she leave a note?" Nikki asked. "Not that I'm aware of," Karen told her. "And to be honest, I wouldn't want to see it even if she had. Right now, I can just about cling onto the possibility that I didn't cause her to do this, but to see her blame me in writing would be a bit much." 

A good while later when Karen had gone for a long soak in the bath, wanting some space to sort out her thoughts, Helen lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "I wish this was a joint," She said with a slight smile. "Since when did you smoke dope?" Nikki asked in astonishment. "Only once," Helen told her with a laugh at her expression. "With Thomas." "So, I wasn't the only one to lead you astray," Nikki said, putting an arm round her. "You've led me far more astray than anyone I've ever known," Helen told her seriously, her eyes briefly betraying all the love she felt for Nikki. "Helen, what you did to Karen," Nikki said slowly, not wanting to break the mood but knowing that she had to say this. "It was pretty brutal." "I know," Helen said regretfully. "But I had to do it. I couldn't just let her carry on cutting when I knew precisely what she was up to, without at least trying to find out why." "It was the judge who told you, wasn't it," Nikki said, finally putting the pieces together. "Yeah, he did," Helen admitted quietly. "And you said that you found out about this during a session," Nikki continued. "Which therefore tells me that you've been seeing the Judge as a patient." "Well done, Miss Marple," Helen said with a smile, leaning forward to gently kiss her. "But you must keep it to yourself, because he definitely wouldn't want you or anyone else to know, and I can do without losing my job, because of braking patient confidentiality. He's been to see me three times now, and I'm learning more about some of our friends that I really want to know." "But why, Helen?" Nikki asked again, the issue of John's being a patient hardly important. "Why did you have to go at her so ruthlessly? You could see it was tearing her to shreds, yet you still kept on at her." "Nikki," Helen said a little exasperatedly. "I am not letting someone else die, just because I didn't do what was right all along." 


	48. Chapter 48

Part Forty-Eight 

Karen had mixed emotions of staying with Nikki and Helen. A fragment of her felt exiled from her rightful habitat and this cut two ways. She liked her own surroundings and her flat was part of her person, and this had been taken away from her by the invasion of her sanctum. Another piece of her liked being elsewhere, on a mini holiday, of being taken out of herself and that was no bad thing. Yet another side of her wanted to just go with the flow and not fight against her destiny. However, her front door was due to be mended today and she would soon be back home, whatever it was that home felt like. The soothing therapy of staying here was transient and all things like this had to pass. She was doubtful that she had been much company for the other two women but both grateful and guilty at the same time to receive theirs. One-sided agreements went against the grain, to take but not give back in equal measure. Deep down, she felt that she had had little choice in the matter.  
Helen had already shot out the door in her very conspicuously bright and breezy manner, leaving a whirling draught behind the firmly shut front door. The revving engine announced that she was ready to head off to her practice.  
"Is Helen always like this in the morning?" Karen winced at this display of energy. Even In her slightly more tranquil frame of mind, she found such enthusiasm wearing, first thing in the morning.  
Nikki was sipping the last of her early morning cup of coffee. She nodded agreement while she swallowed down the hot liquid and was then able to speak.  
"Need you ask? Still, it helps get me moving. It used to be worse when I was having a lie in from working late at night at the club"  
"I was wondering," Karen mused aloud. "Did you have words with DI Sullivan just before he saw me? It was as if he had decided to turn over a new leaf and become a reformed character"  
"We did have a frank exchange of views," Began Nikki, her lips slightly upturned at the edges in suppressed amusement. "No, I tell a lie. He tried to get smart with me being an old friend of Gossard and I read him the riot act. I did remonstrate with him that he needed to watch his language before talking to you"  
Nikki's misleading expression of cherubic innocence did not fool Karen one bit. She was deeply touched by her incredible loyalty.  
"There's more here than meets the eye, Nikki," Karen responded with a faint echo of her normal humour and her twinkle in her eye before she continued. "I suppose we'd better get going."

She was content to follow Nikki's car in her unusual angle of journey from their flat to Larkhall. It made life easier that way. As she concentrated on keeping up with Nikki and following her indicators and brake lights, her mind started to formulate what she had to do. She knew how devious Di was and, when cornered, that she was at her most dangerous. Above all else, she knew how she could blur and fudge issues and turn on the dramatics. She knew all this because she had seen her in action in the witness stand at Lauren's trial. She had crossed swords with her so many times over the years and rage swelled inside her as she remembered that most despicable stroke, her underhand dealings in having her holiday photos exhibited in court. It only struck her how long she had endured her as a nagging nuisance verging on a threat when she grasped in her mind the opportunity to kick her out once and for all. This time, Di had gone too far and however drained she had felt, she was summoning up the energy from within herself. It was surprising what long suppressed anger could be harnessed to accomplish.

"I thought I knew just how screwed up Di Barker can get. I married her, for God's sake but this beats anything she's ever done before." "Do I have your approval to interview her and depending on what she says, sack her or at the very least suspend her pending an investigation." Grayling drew a deep breath. "I will do more than that, Karen. If you don't mind, I'll come and sit in on the interview"  
"That would be very kind of you, Neil, but….." Karen started to say in a hesitant tone.  
"….but you think that my past association with Di would be dragged up into some tasteless domestic row that would disrupt the whole proceedings"  
Karen paused. That was indeed what was at the back of her mind only she didn't want to spurn Neil's well-meant offer and to hurt his feelings.  
"She might try that one but then again, we both know that she would drag in any irrelevance under the sun. We just have to fence her in, that's all"  
Karen exhaled air in sheer relief. A huge weight was taken off her shoulders, that of sole responsibility for what she feared would be a bruising interview just when she was doubting her capacity for endurance. It would be just like the old days.  
'In this case, I would love it if you came over, Neil. I could do with your help"  
Neil pricked up his ears. There was an undertone in her voice that he could not put his finger on. He let it pass as more pressing business awaited him.  
"Be over in half an hour, Karen."

True to his word, Neil presented himself at the gatehouse to be enthusiastically greeted by Ken who told him they didn't see enough of him. Grayling chatted briefly and with a confident stride, presented himself at Karen's door.  
"This underhanded scheme has Di Barker's fingerprints all over it, literally," Grayling observed as he had been thoroughly familiarized with the whole story. It helped him gain a clearer understanding and he could see that recounting her story would clear Karen's mind. He noticed with some concern, how drained and washed out looking Karen looked but put it down to the shock of the recent event and the after effects of Ross's death. He was not into families himself but made what he supposed were the necessary mental adjustments to allow for the shock.  
"All right, let's wheel her in."

Karen lit up a cigarette while they waited for the knock on the door and Grayling refrained from comment. His strong views on smoking were well known to her and she wouldn't act with apparent disrespect unless there was some strong driving force. He ruled out nicotine addiction - that was too obvious an explanation.  
"Come in." Karen called out.  
Instantly, Di appeared through the door and her placid blank expression transformed itself into a glare of anger. She loathed and hated her ex husband and it spelt big trouble that a Home Office official was present at the interview. In one lightning flash moment, she put two and two together and knew that she would be fighting for her life.

"I have called you in for a fact finding meeting on a strictly informal basis. Your name has cropped up in connection with the fact that Shell Dockley broke into my house last Monday"  
"What's your secretary taking notes for? I'm not on trial here," Di snapped as her head swiveled round and saw Karen's secretary starting to scribble away frantically.  
"I was about to explain that my secretary takes no part in the proceedings. She is merely here to provide an accurate written transcript of the conversation which will be made available to both of us and you will have the right to check its accuracy. I am acting strictly within the provisions in the handbook of your conditions of service, which was designed for this purpose. Having been in the Prison Service a long time, you probably know this already. Now can we continue"  
Di glared at Karen's firm reply which showed not the slightest trace of weakness and, yes, she had to admit that Karen was within her rights.

"…….now as it happens, I came to no harm but that was only because the situation was handled delicately and professionally. Police involvement in the case is no more than a breaking and entering charge. Nevertheless, what is disturbing is how Shell came to know my home address and was able to locate me"  
"Amazing what people can find out these days, someone as cunning as Shell. She and Denny Blood broke into Sylvia's house and tortured Sylvia and nearly burnt her Bobby alive. No one pointed the finger to anyone then as I remember. You were wing governor, then as well"  
It's amazing how slippery that woman is, Grayling reflected, as she slid her way into the conversation when Karen paused briefly.  
"Ah, but this is different, Di. Sylvia was easily traceable through the yellow pages, through her husband's business as an undertaker. I am a lot harder to trace by any random search"  
"What about all the press publicity at the time your son died so tragically. That gives anyone an obvious lead. Shell could have got it from them"  
"Don't be ridiculous. As if an escaped inmate would contact the press who would be bound to pass on any details of her to the police," Grayling broke in sharply. "That aside, what you say is simply not possible. Part of my job at area involves contact with the press. I know that they are eager to receive news stories, not to give it out except on the printed page and certainly not their sources of information." "We have something more tangible to point the finger of suspicion to an inside job, not some talkative overeager newspaper hack," Karen followed up, a tight smile on her face.  
"Inside job? I don't know what you're talking about"  
"Perhaps I'll refresh your memory," Came the cold response as adrenaline started to seep into Karen's tired system and she reached for the article. "Take a look at this news cutting and tell me who wrote my address on the back." Karen slid the news cutting across the desk and Di picked it up. She made an elaborate show of reading the article from top to bottom and an intensely scrutinising the handwriting.  
"Sorry, Miss, nothing to do with me"  
"Don't try to lie to me, Di Barker," Karen stormed, her hand trembling with anger at the brazen nerve of this twisted woman. "I know your writing from all the reports you've completed.  
"I agree that the writing looks very much like mine but it doesn't mean it is mine. I mean, there's nothing special about my writing is it. There's plenty of women who write like me"  
Karen restrained an all but irresistible urge to slap her across the face. The nearly convincing air of injured innocence infuriated her as she knew that this twisted woman was as guilty as sin but the cold look in her blue eyes betrayed her cunning calculation that, if she faced this out with enough determination, she would walk. "Ah, but this can be narrowed down a bit. I have talked to Nikki Wade and she distinctly remembers you drawing the letter from Denny Blood to her attention and she left it in your hands to send on to Shell Dockley. What have you to say about that"  
"Ah but you said there was only a newspaper cutting. Was the letter from Denny sent on another occasion? Perhaps Nikki got things a bit mixed up"  
"Don't prevaricate, Di," Grayling said sternly, his face hard and stony with anger. "There was one letter and one only, the letter Denny Blood sent complete with newspaper cutting and her letter, the one that you showed Nikki"  
"I get plenty of letters passing through me." She shrugged her shoulders. "Why should I remember this one especially"  
Grayling laid his hand on Karen's. He was as certain as anything that Di had acted in this malicious underhand fashion but they would need the envelope that was in the hands of the police. Above all else, they should not forewarn her of this. "So you deny having anything to do with deliberately supplying Karen Betts' home address to a one time inmate of this prison enabling the serious and potentially dangerous far reaching consequences of her breaking into her flat? How would you think if, say Natalie Buxton broke into your house"  
Instantly, she switched her mask to one of concerned sympathy.  
"Oh, I'm ever so sorry, Karen. I wasn't thinking straight. I remember that you and Shell used to get on so well. I never thought more than that. I guess I've been very silly in being so thoughtless. But I do deny doing what you're saying. I wouldn't be professional if I made little notes on prisoner's letters"  
"I think we have gained all the facts about the matter that we can get at this stage. You will understand that your side of the story will need to be checked out. You are free to go about your normal duties but you should be prepared to be available at any time to be recalled," Grayling concluded coldly. "Interview terminated."

As soon as Di was out the door, Grayling sprang into action after being frozen in his seat, body and features immobile while the battle was being thrashed out.  
"We have to get onto DI Sullivan and get a copy of the envelope faxed over as soon as. Do you think he'll cooperate"  
"Oh, I'm certain he'll be more amenable right now than he has been in the past." Karen responded with a hint of a smile on her face.  
"Then let's get onto this one."

"Whatever's the matter, Di? You look as white as a sheet. Has Madam got it in for you again? I don't know why we keep going, the long hours we work. We might as well stick a sleeping bag in the corner of the PO's room and have done with it"  
"It's all right, Sylv. Nothing I can't cope with. It's a problem over some file but I'll sort it"  
"Well, you're a long standing member of the POA and if you want representation, you've only to say so. What's the point of paying your subs if you can't get anything out of it from time to time"  
Di smiled faintly. She was uneasy as she suspected that she wasn't out of the wood yet.  
The pair of them turned and walked rapidly the other way when Nikki briefly appeared far away in the distance.  
The phone lines were buzzing with activity and to Karen's huge satisfaction, the machinery of the local police force snapped into action and the clicking and beeping sounds of Karen's fax machine gave up, bit by bit, a copy of the clearly opened envelope. Fortunately, the reproduction was sharp and clear with good contrast and came very close to being a perfect reproduction of the original. The return fax click clicked its way towards the police station with a copy, back and front, of the newspaper article and a sample of Di Barker's writing and a quick cross check at the police station produced a written opinion of a positive match of all three writing samples. It was amazing how quickly the police were ready to act. The plan had paid off and they were ready to spring the trap snap shut.

"So soon already?" Di asked nervously.  
"For the purpose of this interview, this is an extension of the previous fact finding interview which I terminated at 10.34 am and this interview is being minuted," Began Grayling with a confident ring in his voice, which unsettled her immediately.  
"You were asked earlier on if you were involved in any way with that newspaper cutting which told Shell Dockley of Karen's address"  
"So"  
"We have located the envelope in which the cutting was sent to her of which I have a copy. We have had this envelope, a sample of your writing and the writing on the newspaper cutting professionally analysed and they match. It proves beyond doubt that it is your writing on the cutting and on the envelope addressed to Shell, which is standard prison issue. You are the culprit in this utterly shameful episode"  
Grayling seemed to tower in his chair and his presence filled the room. Di's face abruptly dissolved into uncontrollable rage and her blue eyes glared at Grayling. For once. Karen was ignored by Di as the mask was ripped off her face and all the pent up hatreds boiled to the surface and blew the top off her surface manner. "You bastard!" She almost screamed at him with a venom that shook Grayling even as he had prepared for just that moment.  
"You've just been waiting for this chance to get rid of me. This is a personal vendetta, nothing to do with some scrappy pieces of paper. I gave you the chance of companionship in our marriage and offered to care for you, to look after you and all you did was to throw in my face your casual pick ups to take to bed with you. God knows how I suffered during our marriage. You behaved absolutely despicably towards me and now you're using some pretext to get back at me. This is a stitch up"  
"That is enough," Roared Grayling as he stood up and pressed his hands on the table.  
"You have behaved exactly as I predicted you would. When you're confronted with your misdeeds, what do you do? Every time, you launch into a load of dramatics, poor hard done by Di Barker, everybody's victim. You very conveniently ignore the cold blooded way you conspired to take advantage of Nikki's good will, being ever so conscientious in bringing a matter of concern to her attention and, when entrusted with dealing with the matter in hand, you betray that trust and sneak off to exact your private act of vengeance against Karen. Shell Dockley has a reputation for sudden unpredictable acts of violence. Do you remember the way she stabbed Jim Fenner? Something like that could so easily have happened to Karen or any other prison officer"  
Di's face turned white at the mention of Fenner's name and Karen winced at the mention. The comparison was rightly made but Grayling was skating on very thin ice, as this seemed likely to set Di off into a further attack of hysterical anger.  
"Jim Fenner. Oh yes, I remember Jim Fenner. Nobody else remembers him only you…" and here she turned her blazing eyes on Karen and jabbed in her direction with her forefinger,"…..helped that murdering woman get off virtually Scot free, only a year in prison when she should have been locked up for life"  
"……..so in order to 'stand up' for Jim Fenner, you sneaked in those photos of Karen to the prosecution without anyone knowing and tried to smear her reputation, to discredit and humiliate her because you get off on stabbing people in the back. Is that how it happened? It's becoming quite a pattern in your life, isn't it?" "So what if I did? It would mean that she would have a taste of the misery that other people have to go through. You just get the cream out of life, looks, a child, promotion, a career. Everything falls into your lap while others have to slave on, day after day"  
Is this how she sees my life, wondered Karen in utter bewilderment? She was rendered utterly speechless by the totally bizarre way that this woman was ranting on at her. It didn't hurt her but just made her feel totally removed from reality. By some process, which she could not afterwards describe, her out of focus observation of the row between the one time married couple, suddenly sharpened and she put herself centre stage in the unfolding drama. "As Mr. Grayling said earlier, this has gone on far enough. We've gone round the houses in any and every grudge that you've had against me but the facts of the matter that you have been found guilty of gross misconduct that was calculated to endanger the life of a fellow prison officer. The fact that the prison officer was me is beside the point. I am informing you that"  
In a curiously detached way, Karen's firmly pitched tone of voice cut through the uproar like a sharp knife sliced through melted butter. Di Barker was almost hyperventilating, paralysed in voice, mind functioning and physical movements as the moment of destiny marched closer. At this second, Karen glanced sidewise at Grayling who nodded in agreement. She paused for a second before she dropped the bombshell that was poised and waiting. "……..you're sacked. You're going to be escorted to your locker room, all your things cleared out and you with them out of Larkhall. Oh yes, you can rely on me not to give you a good reference. You can be sure of that"  
Di broke down in hysterical sobbing, every muscle in her face contorted and her curly brown hair awry. Both of them looked down in distaste at her and a tiny twinge of guilt that she had so lowered herself and it was somehow their fault. Karen picked up the phone and called Nikki who had been waiting anxiously in her office, chain-smoking in anxiety for Grayling and Karen.

Nikki took one look at the frozen tableau and guessed what had happened.  
"Nikki, I am asking you as Di Barker's wing governor to escort her to collect her possessions from the locker room and off the premises. You know what it's about"  
Nikki gravely nodded, earning herself a glare from Di. So she was in the conspiracy as well. "Come on. You have to come with me"  
She was almost tempted to put her arm round the heaving shoulders of the sobbing woman but checked herself in time. It would have done no good. Nikki held the door open for her and led her away to her locker room while Karen collapsed back in her chair and Grayling drew a huge breath of relief. Both of them felt as if they had been through a wringer and were utterly drained.

Nikki stood back for her, watching Di's every move. She knew that she was in a potentially dangerous situation, just the two of them in the locker room. The sounds of the wing were far away as was any assistance but then again, hadn't she been in a club late at night with the occasional rowdy drunk?  
"I must ask you to clear out your locker, Di, surrender your ID and change out of your uniform." Nikki said gently.  
"That's right," Di raged. "An ex con who might have been locked up for life tells me, a prison officer of many years standing." She had not got used to the fact that her had stopped dead in its tracks and would soon be relegated to the past"  
"You know, Di, you just don't get me. I'm in my late thirties, left school at sixteen and have worked all my life. I've had my own business, well half of it and the only gap is the three years I did time here. Yet you can only see me as an ex con"  
After a flash of cold dismissive contempt, Nikki resumed her conversational manner.  
"I've sacked barmaids before from the club I ran. Some of them thought they were smart for dipping their hands in the till. I don't like anyone who breaks my trust in them and what's happened to you isn't that different, it's just that there are more formal procedures"  
"One of these days, I'll get even with you, Nikki Wade. You had better watch your back in future, every minute of the day"  
The taller woman laughed slightly. The words were absurd.  
"So what else is new? The only difference is that you'll be on the outside. Now, I must ask you to carry out one last order, if you please"  
Di turned her back and wearily slung her clothes into her hold all and handed over her ID to Nikki. She changed her clothes and looked wearily at the door. All the fight had been beaten out of her.

The two of them walked quietly across the wing. Bodybag saw them and was rooted to her feet, her mouth the shape of a nought. She did not expect to see this sight. Politely, she let Di through the sets of gates. She felt naked without her habitual passport to access all parts of the prison. She shuffled out to the gate where a bewildered Ken looked astonished at the two of them. Nikki gestured to him to stay silent and they passed through. She averted her eyes while Di glanced wildly up at the prison walls that she surely can't be leaving. Her car was waiting with a clearer idea of where to go than she had. 


	49. Chapter 49

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Forty-Nine

On the Friday evening, George thought it was about time she went to see Karen. She had been putting it off for the last few days, because in truth she really didn't know how to approach her. Karen almost certainly wouldn't want any of them to know what she'd been doing to herself, but George couldn't just leave things as they were. She owed it to Karen to check up on her, to let her know that she George was still there if Karen ever needed her. But as she drew her car up in front of Karen's flat, George was forced to admit that she also still held some slight residual anger for what Karen had done with John at that conference. She knew that now probably wasn't the time to let that out, but it definitely was something that ought to be discussed between them. 

Karen had only stayed one night with Helen and Nikki, as her front door had been mended the very next day, making her home once again secure. She had wanted to regain her privacy as quickly as possible, though she had appreciated both Helen and Nikki's kindness towards her. The last few days hadn't exactly been easy for her, with Sullivan's enquiries and Di's dismissal being only two of the hurdles she'd had to get over. She'd had to force herself to meet Nikki's eyes, and not to avoid them, as she would have preferred to do. She didn't like the fact that Nikki now knew her secret, but to give Nikki her due, she hadn't once referred to it. 

But when she opened the door, to see George standing on her doorstep, she couldn't help but wonder what had brought her. "Come in," she said, looking neither pleased nor irritated to see her. "How are you?" George asked as Karen closed the door behind her. "Oh, all right," Karen said evasively, leading the way back to the sitting room. "Really?" George asked her, "Because you honestly don't look it." Her eyes strayed from Karen's face down to her left arm, instantly betraying the reason why she was here. "He told you, didn't he," Karen said resignedly, sitting down and lighting a cigarette. "Darling, did you seriously expect him to keep it to himself?" George asked her, sitting down at the other end of the sofa and regarding Karen thoughtfully. "I didn't want him to tell you," Karen said regretfully. "Why?" George wanted to know, hating the fact that Karen wanted to hide so much from her. "I'd have thought that was obvious," Karen said after taking a long drag. "I'm ashamed of it. I know how utterly self-destructive it is, and I know that it doesn't solve anything, but I can't stop doing it. Cutting yourself, it's hardly something to be proud of, is it?" "Neither is starving oneself to the point of virtual extinction," George replied matter-of-factly. "But that doesn't prevent me from doing it every now and again. One thing that you really mustn't feel is ashamed, I mean that." "John was furious with me when he found out," Karen said quietly, feeling a slight sense of relief that George was dealing with this so calmly. "He didn't show it, but I could see it in his face." "Yes, well, that's because he doesn't and never will understand what drives some of us to do things like that to ourselves." "You do though, don't you," Karen asked her, needing that extra bit of reassurance from her. "Of course I do," George told her seriously. "It might terrify me that you've finally reached this point, but I do understand how you've arrived here. Though I can't help wondering what provoked you into this in the first place." "I think it was seeing Henry's coffin," Karen told her, not having any other explanation for why she'd started doing it on that particular day. "Was it?" George asked her knowingly. "Or would it be fair to suggest, that this was more about what happened at that conference." 

Karen went very quiet, her cigarette suspended halfway to her mouth. Eventually stubbing it out in the ashtray, she said, "You're still angry with me about that, aren't you." "Yes, very," George told her firmly. "And no, not because you rather successfully made John go back on his promise." "How much did he tell you?" Karen asked, though knowing that George's anger had to have something to do with what they'd actually done, or more accurately, what she, Karen, had done to John. "Everything there was to tell," George informed her blithely. "I'd have thought that once like that with Ritchie Atkins might have been enough for you, or did he simply give you the taste for it?" Karen winced, this being one of the cheapest shots she'd ever heard from George. "You can do better than that," Karen told her, not betraying her hurt at George's words. "Because throwing insults at me isn't your style these days, or are we choosing to regress to our former battle lines in order to prove a point?" "Do you have any idea what that did to him?" George demanded acidly, ignoring Karen's jibe because she knew Karen was right. "Yes," Karen replied bitterly. "And believe me, I've never felt more guilty about sleeping with anyone than I do about that. I know he felt out of control, and I know he thought that he'd forced himself on me. George, that is the last thing I would ever want to do to anyone." "You haven't really got any idea, have you," George threw back at her. "John didn't just feel as though he'd raped you, he was terrified that he would end up doing the same to me. He was so scared of repeating what he'd done with you, without in the least meaning to do so, that for a little while, he couldn't sleep with anyone, not me, not Jo, not anyone. It wasn't that he didn't want to make love with either of us, he quite literally couldn't." All the colour drained from Karen's face, as she realised just how cataclysmic this would have been for John. Out of all the men she'd ever known, he was the one man who relied on making love to keep him going, to convince him of his own existence. 

"I'm sorry," Karen said quietly, the tears of regret finally rising to her eyes. It hurt her immensely that she'd done this to John of all people. "I can't help being bitterly angry with you for that," George told her, tears rising to her own eyes as all her unresolved feelings of anger rose up in her. "John didn't know what to do with himself for a few weeks, because he was terrified of never being able to make love to anyone again. I knew it would come back in time, and so did Jo, but he didn't. As far as I know, that hasn't ever happened to John, and he didn't know what he could possibly do to cure it." "Does Jo know I slept with him at the conference?" Karen asked, thinking that she would have seen Jo before now if she did. "No," George told her. "Because I wasn't stupid enough to tell her about it. She knows that John couldn't sleep with either of us for a while, but she doesn't know why. She thinks it was just one of those things. I couldn't be cross with John, because he had his punishment, a far bigger punishment than he really deserved. I want to be angry with you, but at the same time I know why you did it. If I'd been in your situation, I suspect I might have gone looking for some company too, though John did tell me that it was he who did all the running." "That isn't important," Karen told her gently, not wanting to hurt her further by confirming John's assertion. "I'm sorry," George said in horrified realisation. "I came here to talk to you, and to find out why you've been cutting, not to shout at you." "It was definitely very well deserved," Karen told her. "And not all that unexpected. I just wish I'd known what sleeping with John would do to him. I wouldn't wish that on any man, but especially not him. I didn't mean to hurt you, or Jo, or John, or anyone, but that's all I seem capable of doing at the moment. Nikki's been doing her damnedest to find out what's wrong with me for the last couple of weeks, and all I've done is ignore and avoid her concern, and you should have seen Helen's face when she finally achieved her goal the other night, and made me tell her about this," She said, briefly touching her left arm. "She looked as though it really hurt her to see it, which I suppose it did. Why do I do it, George? Why do I keep on hurting everyone who means so much to me?" The tears were streaming down her face by this time, something George hadn't seen in Karen for months. She hadn't even cried like this when her son had died, that grief being somehow restrained, whereas this came straight from the heart, straight from the well of anger, hurt and confusion that so clearly raged in Karen's mind. Purely on instinct, George moved along the sofa, putting her arms round this woman she'd once held so frequently. "I think you're doing this, because you've so much hurt inside you that needs to come out," She said a little hesitantly, the tears running down her own cheeks at seeing Karen's almost unmanageable distress. "I don't want to be like this," Karen said through her tears. "How I feel does not give me the right to hurt anyone else. It's not something I mean to do, I promise." "I know," George told her, softly rubbing her shoulders. "But it's something we all do when we're struggling to cope with something as monumental as losing a son. That's why you've been hurting yourself, isn't it," She said in realisation. "You've been cutting yourself, because you want to avoid hurting those of us who mean something to you, because you think that somehow you deserve it whereas the rest of us don't." "Possibly," Karen admitted grudgingly, unable to fault George's assessment of her actions. "Darling, you don't deserve any of it," George insisted vehemently. "Really you don't." "I'm so angry with him, George," Karen told her, the bitter admission slipping from her without any further prompting. "I'm so furious with him for doing this to me. I tried my best to be what he wanted me to be, but it still wasn't good enough. Nothing I ever did was ever good enough. Part of me wants to shout at him for doing something so bloody stupid, and the rest of me wants to hold him so tightly, that he can't ever do anything like that in the first place." 

After a while of simply being held by George, her crying decreased enough for her to remember just who was sitting so close to her. "I'm sorry," She said, moving slightly away from George and reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table. "Darling, you don't need to be sorry," George assured her, her own brief tears having long since dried. "You need to do this, as often as possible. It's the only way you're going to get through everything you're feeling, to let everything out once in a while. It'll do you far more good than cutting yourself any day. Promise me never to feel guilty for crying or being angry with me, with John, with Helen, with anybody." "I'm not used to doing this," Karen admitted sheepishly. "No, I know you're not," George said ruefully. "You're used to being there for everyone else, and surviving entirely on your own. But do you know something, that isn't going to work this time. So when you feel that cutting is the only answer, or whenever you want to get everything out of that incredible mind of yours, you come and see me, or any one of us, because I'm not going anywhere, and neither is anyone else. I will be keeping an eye on you, because I'm not having you become as much of an endangered species as I have in the past. Is that understood?" 


	50. Chapter 50

Part Fifty 

As the evening wore on, Yvonne was highly conscious of how quiet Lauren was, almost monosyllabic she was. Of course, it was understandable, being a Friday night when Lauren had worked all week that she wasn't at her most talkative but she was certain that there was at least one other reason that was closer to home. Lauren looked closed off, tired and Yvonne judged that it wasn't the best moment to ask Lauren what the matter was. It was unusually quiet that night and the silence hung heavy on them both. Yvonne judged that it was no good suggesting sticking the television on- there were fifty bleeding channels and they all said the same.

"Mum," Lauren said abruptly first thing on Saturday morning, "I'm sorry that I've been a right moody cow recently. Fact is, I had a lot on my mind"  
"Want to talk about it?" came Yvonne's casual reply but Lauren felt her mother's eyes on her and that she had her complete attention.  
The younger woman hunched her shoulders, reached out for the cigarette that was offered her and lit up.  
"I really must give up or cut down on my smoking"  
"That's what I said to myself last week only my cunning plan to give it up didn't quite work"  
"That will be the day, mum." Lauren laughed. Already she felt more relaxed and able to talk. It was as if a vice had been laid on her mind, squeezing her thoughts inside her so tight that no matter how intensely she felt, she couldn't speak. She thought briefly and fondly of the past and, yes, this cross talk banter had existed between them both, like some secret code that no one else could crack. "You could be doing worse, Lauren. I got really worried about you when you took Fenner out. You're coming on just fine right now. If you're smoking too much, I can live with that one." Lauren grinned at Yvonne's deadpan humour, the way she said it with such a straight face.  
"Anyway, it's about time I got ready to visit Denny. I can't be late"  
"You mean it?" Yvonne enquired with raised eyebrows. She kept her voice toneless but she was as jumpy as she could ever remember in her life. Everything seemed to hang on how delicately she handled the situation.

It had been nearly a month ago that Lauren had so bravely agreed to come with her to visit Denny. If that had been arranged in short order, everything would have been well but Lauren had a busy patch at work so that she couldn't tear herself away even for a day. Despite the best of intentions, practical matters relentlessly intruded themselves and deflected them from following up the resolve. In the middle of all that came the one incident which had a destabilizing effect on all of them but on Lauren most of all.  
"Remember, we're going to visit Denny next week," Yvonne had found herself saying for the second time one day.  
"How could I bloody forget about it, mum? You keep banging on about her. You can't keep bossing me around. I'm not a kid any more. After all, I'm only running a business all hours of the day." She had shouted at Yvonne." You keep nagging me about it and you can go on your own. I know you love her more than you love your own flesh and blood"  
"Lauren, that's not true," Protested Yvonne strongly.  
"Isn't it just?" Lauren fired back with a sneer on her face. "Just turn the record off"  
At that, Lauren shot out of the room and clumped off heavily upstairs to her bedroom leaving Yvonne much more on her own than she could remember. Those sarcastic jabs cut her like a knife. She could remember how positively Lauren had reacted those weeks ago when she had first broached the idea. 'Look, Lauren, what say I phone up Nikki and ask her to pass on a message to Denny? I wouldn't want to bother her but if it would help Denny, she'd do it.' She had been so proud of Lauren then and she hated the very idea of only being proud of her if she did well. That's not what mothers were about, she vowed to herself fiercely. The trouble was, she could understand how Lauren felt. It was the little things round the house that explained why both of them were affected. Neither of them could get away from it. After that confrontation, she just buttoned it and never said another word, even when the time and the days crawled along up to the evening before the visit. It was a real strain and she felt as if she were walking on eggshells all the time.

"Of course we're going to visit Denny, Mum. We had better not be late with you redoing your makeup for the fifth time." Lauren answered her mother in a determined fashion.  
It was Yvonne's turn to shrug her shoulders. Children eh, what would you do with them, she asked herself? Sometimes, she couldn't figure out which way Lauren would jump but this time, luck was on her side. She wasn't going to ask any questions that were for sure.

"Strange, isn't it." Observed Lauren." You look round every time for the lead and glance back at the door to make sure that ……..he's with us"  
Yvonne nodded as she opened the passenger door for Lauren. They needed each other's company for the drive.

Denny's armwaving was unmistakable as Lauren and Yvonne threaded their way through the crowds and approached her. She had moved forward to make sure of her claim on a nearby table. Lauren and Yvonne took turns to hug Denny briefly and squeezed themselves on chairs to face her.  
"It's great to see you guys. I was getting dead scared that I'd been dreaming about the visit and I kept bugging the shit out of Babs to make me believe it was real. Course, I knew all along that you two would make it"  
Lauren and Yvonne exchanged meaning glances. It was more than they had cared to believe a few short hours ago. Still, they both mentally concluded, they were both here and that was all that mattered right now.  
"I nearly forgot, Babs she sends you her love and she knows she'll catch up with you. I gotta thank her for getting my arse out of gear since I haven't got you to shout at me, man"  
Lauren's emotions churned around inside her at Denny's incredibly kind words and her lopsided grin. She was really as together as all that, she wondered. She could not help but remember the totally broken apart woman who spent her time collapsed in her bunk in their cell and it was Denny who played big sister. Mum was right. It had been too long since she had seen Denny. She did her good to see her right now and that was ironical. She was supposed to be the visitor from the Land of Freedom, Money and Perfection to visit a prisoner who had none of these gifts. She tried to listen as Denny rattled away and stared abstractly at Denny. Her presence was once so familiar, from first thing in the morning to last thing at night.  
"There's something wrong with you. I can tell it and here's me talking my head off. I'm dead sorry"  
"Not really." Began Yvonne when Denny cut her short.  
"Come on, spit it out." Denny commanded, borrowing one of Yvonne's phrases. "I know you both too well"  
"I've got to say it, Denny. Trigger died just a week ago"  
"Shit, that's terrible, man." Denny exclaimed. Denny knew Yvonne far to well to be deceived by Yvonne's curt, short tones." I remember Trigger so well that day I came to visit. He was dead friendly and cool"  
"You can"  
"Course I can. I can remember every moment of that visit. When I'm in my bunk at night and I'm feeling like shit, I can always feel better by picturing everything, as if I was on the front row at the cinema and watching everything. Just once or twice, they took us out from that children's home to the pictures and I could almost pretend I was with my mum and everything was normal….I can remember the songs Miss Betts played me on her CD when we were in her car, sitting down in your sitting room, out by the swimming pool. Miss Betts, Karen, was dead friendly then. She seemed really happy and I could forget that I'd been taken there from this dump. She could be a family friend……but Trigger, that ain't fair. He's part of the family"  
The hearts of both women were melted and made whole again by Denny's sincere sympathy for them and for their dog whom she had met just one that one day. She talked like anyone did who was decent who was locked up there. One person's pain became another's, to be comforted in an automatic gesture of humanity. It just wasn't possible to watch human tragedy from afar, the other side of a city pavement and to hurry on, uncaring, to pursue your own needs and agenda. Thank god, they weren't like that but they saw it everywhere when they were out in town. The streets of London just didn't allow time or space for that sort of thing.

"I heard about what happened to Shell." Denny suddenly said as she rapidly shifted the conversation back and forth. "It ain't right that she topped herself that way. She wouldn't have done it if she hadn't had her kid took off her and was shunted out to some muppet hospital. She ain't mad, or at least not that way"  
" I know, Denny." Yvonne said softly and tenderly. "I wouldn't ever say she was my best buddy, you know that but no mother deserves to have her baby taken away that way"  
"I wasn't exactly all there when I killed Fenner, Denny. Maybe I was lucky, luckier than Shell was." Put in Lauren. She had only really heard of Shell through her mother but never seen her. Nevertheless, Shell was very real to her and could gauge just how totally screwed up she herself had been at one time. The differences weren't that great. Denny very kindly didn't get defensively angry with them but stared at them through the tears in her eyes. Her loss was still a raw open wound in her.  
"If Fenner were still around she'd end up haunting this place to piss him off." Yvonne suddenly broke in on her thoughts.  
"You never know, she might still do it to piss off Bodybag." Came Denny's reply, laughing very shakily. It was a curious comfort to her that something of Shell's spirit might linger in the rambling structure that was Larkhall.

"Miss Betts don't look too good these days," Denny said at last as her thoughts drifted about, rudderless.  
"I heard that Shell had broke into her house. I couldn't believe that one. I recognized that poxy cutting I sent her. I just thought she'd be interested, like she knew her when she was here. I didn't think I'd start all this shit, like write her frigging address on the back and say, come and visit me. It was different when we was on the run and she thought up that mad plan to gatecrash Bodybag's house"  
"Tell me about it." Yvonne asked out of sudden interest. It was one part of Denny's past that she had never heard about it in any detail and instinct told her that it mattered to know that part of Denny who would still have ties to Shell, dead or alive.  
"Don't ask," Denny answered, screwing up her face. "I was out of my brain on the coke that an old mate of mine left us. It seemed like a good idea at the time, to go somewhere the cops would never think of. I broke the window and we ambushed them and"  
"Go on, Denny. It's all right"  
"We got Bodybag dressed up as a French maid, serving us coke off a silver platter. Don't laugh…….."She broke off as Yvonne's mouth curved into an irrepressible grin. "Shell was dressed up as a screw, dead sexy she was…..:" Denny reminisced as she remembered having sex with Shell up there in Bodybag's bed, one time when she could get Shell's sexual interest directed entirely on her instead of some wanker of a man.  
"There was a lot of bad shit later on. Her Bobby was made to lie in a coffin, for Bodybag to seal him up and then she torched it. We did a runner when we heard the cops outside, oh yes, Shell stuck a knife into the tyre of that cop car while we made off with their hearse"  
"What?" Yvonne asked, her mind trying to cope with the surreal and very dangerous images that jumped out of her mind. Mind you, her Lauren kidnapping Fenner, making him dig his own coffin, shooting him and burying him alive wasn't much better except that he was a total and utter bastard.  
"I don't want to talk any more about that stuff, it's in the past and I was different then." Continued Denny hastily, trying to distance herself from the memories to both Yvonne's and Lauren's intense relief. "Tell me what happened to Karen. You must know. You usually do"  
"Nikki filled me in on a few of the details. Shell got in, very delicate like when Karen was asleep with the judge, didn't even wake them up"  
"Got to admit, she's got taste"  
"…….anyway," nodded Yvonne, smiling reminiscently. "Karen saw her at the bedroom door, just standing there. The judge nearly screwed up by saying he was a high court judge"  
"Jesus, he can't have known Shell. That was either very brave or very stupid or"  
"Both. Anyway, Karen got her calmed down and chatting like old friends, about her kids, about what Fenner did to get her sent out to Ashmoor. She came to see Karen because she thought she could get her back with her baby. The judge got smart and stayed out of it. When she got Shell calmed down, she slipped the handcuffs on her"  
"…The bitch." Denny exclaimed.  
"You're wrong there, Denny"  
"You would say that wouldn't you. After all she's your ex"  
"That's only to say that we're still friends and I know her, probably better than you do. She must have been feeling like shit after losing Ross………if I know Karen, she felt she had to protect the judge. She knows that, deep down, Shell's dead funny about men and she ain't exactly on friendly terms with judges like she would choose them to have to tea with at bleeding Buckingham Palace. She would think she had to protect him and, afterwards, she'd hate herself for betraying Shell. You must know that, Denny"  
Denny's face softened as Yvonne's patient persuasive tones gently insinuated her way through Denny's instantly raised defences. Jesus, first Lauren and now Denny, she reflected to herself. It never rains but it pours. Too many people have lost what's dearest to them. "Tell you what, Denny. I've been doing the talking and I ain't let Lauren get a word in edgeways here. I'll pop in and see Karen while you two catch up with each other"  
Both Lauren and Denny grinned with pleasure at this. It was something that their sometimes difficult personalities could get simple, uncomplicated pleasure out of. It would do both of them good. 


	51. Chapter 51

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Fifty-One

When the next Tuesday came round, and John arrived at his fourth therapy session with Helen, he was forced to admit that he was now almost becoming used to the feeling of being examined so closely. Helen wouldn't let him get away with anything, which he supposed was the point of the exercise. She was almost ruthless in her verbal scrutiny of him, forcing and cajoling him into answering her questions and forming new ones of his own. Had she been like this with Ross, he wondered to himself? Had she pinned him with that firm, unwavering gaze of hers, making him unable to avoid her for the merest second. 

"Well, you had an interesting night last week, didn't you," Helen said, after closing the door of the consulting room behind them. "That's one way of putting it," John told her ruefully as he sat down in his usual chair, and thinking that Shell Dockley's visit must have done the rounds of the Larkhall women long before now. "So, how would you describe it then?" Helen asked, sitting down opposite him. "Erm," He tried to think of precisely the right word, "Enlightening," He replied eventually. "Why enlightening?" Helen asked, a little bemused by his choice of phrase. "I've observed Karen in action on a number of occasions," He explained to her. "But never has it been quite so important to my continued existence. She quite literally had my life in her hands, not something I think I've ever really experienced before." "Which I should imagine goes against every instinct you have to be in control," Helen said thoughtfully. "Yes," John agreed with her heavily. "There was absolutely nothing I could do to improve the situation. In fact at one point, I almost made it worse." "Don't tell me," Helen said with a rueful smile. "You told Shell you were a high court Judge, didn't you." "I seemed to think it would frighten her into giving up," John said self-deprecatingly. "But all it achieved was to make her tell me what a judge had once said to her. It wasn't the brightest thing I've ever done by any means." "Did you think that by doing that, you would be able to regain the reins so to speak?" "Possibly," John admitted. "It sounds stupid, but I don't think I entirely trusted Karen to be able to deal with the situation satisfactorily, even though I know she's been doing it for years." "Where Shell Dockley was concerned, Karen always was the best at handling her. I don't know why, but Karen always managed to get through to her where the rest of us only served to alienate her even more." "Karen talked to her just as she might to anyone else, as though she could completely forget everything Shell had previously done. I've always believed that criminals are human beings just like the rest of us, but to see Karen talk to an extremely dangerous woman like that was quite, odd, perhaps even a little unnerving." "Why?" Helen asked, truly mystified by this. "I suppose it was because even though Karen's space had been thoroughly invaded, even though Shell had broken into her home and was figuratively if not actually holding the pair of us hostage, Karen simply accepted it as almost normal. She made her a cup of tea, and they sat there smoking, just like two people who had a lot of catching up to do, which I suppose in a way they did. I felt pretty surplus to requirements." "Believe me, Judge," Helen told him ruefully," you ought to be very glad that Shell didn't take more notice of you than she did. Men in particular can wind her up very quickly." "Oh, I know," John replied, trying to make her see that he thoroughly understood her. "I just wish I'd been able to do something, to make that decision easier on Karen. Did she tell you what Shell wanted from her?" "Yes, she did," Helen said regretfully. "And I don't think anything could have made that easier for Karen to deal with, because in the end, the decision to help or not to help Dockley had to be Karen's and no one else's." 

Then, after a moment's thought, Helen said, "Tell me, when you informed Shell that you're a judge, was that something you thought about doing, or was it a spur of the moment piece of recklessness?" "Probably the latter," John admitted fairly. "Though I'm not sure that I'd agree with your assessment that it was reckless." "Judge, no one, without a little due care and consideration, tells a con of any kind that they are in a position of high authority, especially someone like a high court judge. Let's face it, all prisoners are far too aware that it was one of your brethren who sent them down in the first place." "Point taken," John conceded ruefully, unwilling to admit that this hadn't really crossed his mind with Shell. "So, would it be fair to suggest, that behaving a little recklessly with women, in whatever situation, is something you do as a rule?" "Certainly not," John replied fervently. "You're protesting a bit too much there, Judge," Helen told him with a smile. "All right, I do occasionally behave recklessly where women are concerned, but no, I definitely wouldn't say I do it all the time." "Just as a little exercise," Helen encouraged him. "Try and think of the time you behaved most recklessly with a woman." 

John had to think about this for a while, because he was forced to admit that he couldn't quite decide between a few likely candidates. There was obviously Karen, and Angela, the woman who had given them all Chlamydia, and Yvonne, and Carol, that waitress friend of Charlie's. It did offend him slightly that the list went on so long, with more names and faces than he really cared to remember. Then he hit on her, the one woman who had almost managed to cause him no end of trouble, purely and simply because he'd refused to see beyond her body and her silky, treacherous voice. "Francesca Rochester," He said into the expectant silence. "She played the oboe in the performance of 'The Creation' that we did back in June. She's Sir Ian Rochester's wife. I first became involved with her, not long after I rose to the heights of the high court. I loathed her husband on sight, and part of me probably thought it would be amusing to seduce her right under his nose, which I am a little ashamed to say it was. I was in the middle of two pretty nasty rape trials at the time, so chasing her proved to be a very welcome distraction. I took her out for dinner, and I found her interesting to talk to as well as stunningly attractive. We went back to my chambers, because there was something in one of my books there that she wanted to look up, though I can't for the life of me remember what it was now." He stopped, clearly a little embarrassed by what was to come next. "I can't possibly say that I made love to her, because that's blatantly not what it was." "You had sex with her. Will that do?" "Yes, I suppose so," He agreed reluctantly, though not thinking this entirely adequate to describe the furious and frantic way he had swept all objects from his desk with one hand, and pushed up her skirt and removed her knickers with the other as he'd leant over her. There had been nothing sensual in that coupling, just a hard, fast, animalistic meeting of bodies in a fraught attempt to achieve instant gratification. "Having sex with Francesca Rochester in my chambers, was definitely not the most sensible thing I've ever done," He admitted sheepishly, and I thought the art room was bad, Helen inwardly smiled. "I discovered just how reckless that had been," John continued, "When the next day it was revealed that we had been caught on camera." Putting a hand quickly to her mouth, Helen tried to stifle a smirk. "It's all right," John told her with a smile. "You can laugh, I find it quite funny myself sometimes. I had to persuade my clerk to get rid of the tape. You could say that put paid to any possibility of an actual relationship with Francesca, which was probably no bad thing. But a year or so later, I met up with her again, and this time she managed to hook me under her spell. She was running a soft porn empire with her cousin, whom she was also sleeping with, both of which I obviously knew nothing about. Jo could see that she wasn't all she pretended to be, but I refused to even consider it. When I found out what she was up to, I also discovered that she had set up an off shore account in my name, presumably filling it with the proceeds from a number of lap dancing clubs and other such enterprises." 

When he had come to the end of his story, Helen sat and regarded him thoughtfully. "After that little fiasco, did you ever think differently about the women you became involved with? I mean, did it make you more cautious, more wary of who you slept with?" "For a little while perhaps, but not to any great extent." "Why?" Helen asked in astonishment. "Because I would have thought that protecting your reputation would have been uppermost in your mind after something like that." "I don't see my private and public lives as being even remotely connected," John told her simply. "When I'm a judge, I stick to the rules, most of the time, and only break them when I consider that keeping to them doesn't allow justice to follow its natural course. What I do outside of court, has absolutely no bearing on what I do in court." "Let's try and put this another way," Helen said speculatively. "When you're sitting on that throne, doing your best to achieve justice for every ordinary average citizen who comes into your domain, you are inhabiting the highest level of moral integrity possible in this life. You are upholding what is right, as opposed to what is wrong, something that most people would be immensely proud to be able to do. Therefore, when it comes to what you do when you're not in that coveted position of power, all those restraints, all those instincts that keep you within that moral high ground, are somewhat relaxed, enabling you to perhaps behave more recklessly and more unwisely as a result." John was extremely quiet at this pronouncement, because he didn't want to tell her that she was right. Her description of what he tried to do every day of his working life had made him briefly uplifted, something he'd never previously felt during one of these sessions. But her assertion that he allowed his moral restraints to disappear as soon as he left the courtroom, that made him feel more than a little uneasy. "That worries you, doesn't it," She said, breaking in on his thoughts. "Because you don't want to admit that you might just be capable of behaving in a manner that might not always be desirable to those around you." "I need to think about that," John told her, needing to buy himself a little time. Glancing at her watch, Helen replied with, "Well, you can have a fortnight to think about it, because we're out of time." "Good," John said with an obvious sigh of relief. "Though I can't come to see you a fortnight today, because it's my birthday, and no way am I going through any form of mental torture on my birthday." Helen smiled. "All right then, but in that case it'll have to be just before Christmas, because I can't fit you in before then. This time of year gets very stressful for some, so I'm in great demand. Do think about what I've said in the meantime though, because I would like you to have a response to it the next time I see you." 


	52. Chapter 52

A/N: This chapter is jointly written and is betaed by Jen. 

Part Fifty-Two

Getting dressed in the morning in a leisurely fashion was the one occasion in his life when John could let his mind run free and away from the immediate day-to-day preoccupations of his life. He had that tidy minded grip of time that allowed him to move quietly around in an apparently unflappable manner. He had recently taken to allotting himself time to contemplate where he stood in the world, not his work and not his nearest and dearest but himself. For that reason, his birthday seemed to be as an appropriate occasion as any. He could not guess what impulse put that into his mind but his lifestyle tended him to give way to it. Surprisingly, he did not look too closely at the birthday cards as he had decided that this could wait till later.

As he fastidiously shaved to achieve that state of perfection, his face stared back at him. Thankfully, it did not look any different to last year as fortune allowed his face not to get appreciably more lined and only made him look more distinguished and attractive to the eye. His hair, though graying, was still as thick as before with that obstinate grip on him as he had on life itself. Everything was in order. It was only that his life had changed inwardly. He assembled the facts in his mind like laying out a set of playing cards and dealt himself his hand, straight off the top of the pack in no particular order. He remembered that by then he had a date set for the Atkins trial, one which he had viewed with a certain amount of trepidation, more so than any other trial. The reason, as he asked himself at the time, was because he, George and Jo knew too much about the case even before the news of the killing had become public property. Nevertheless, in his considered judgment, he had handled the case with all the care and compassion, which he knew he was capable of. Of considerable satisfaction to himself was his prominent part in the rehearsals for and the triumphant performance of 'The Creation." He was surely not being immodest in describing how he had gently steered that individual array of surprising talents that went into that masterpiece.

There was more to last year than these very public events, he had to admit to himself. Stray thoughts had a habit of popping up out of the blue much more frequently than they used to, like burglars into his conscious mind. He knew more than ever that he had to let them in, for good or ill. Before, the question would never have arisen. His mouth shaped the first proposition as his shaver made sure of the smoothness of skin over his cheekbone. If it had not been for this last year, George and Karen would not have become lovers, that in the aftermath of the breakup of that relationship, he would not have looked on helplessly while Karen, with reckless abandon, rescued Denny from off the rooftop of Larkhall prison and in some circuitous fashion, he had come to sleep with her at that disastrous night at a conference. That had started out no differently than any other conference he had been to where both he and some available woman acted with the full knowledge of exactly what they were doing and what the consequences would be. This time, he ruefully admitted, he really had not known exactly what he had been getting into, in the one area he had felt safe. So many women had entered and reentered his life that year, he reflected, sheering away from those uncomfortable memories. Amongst that extraordinarily steadfast group of women from both sides of the prison bars was Helen, that strong resolute woman, who held the cards of his destiny here in her shapely hands, who was here both to rescue him and to test his sense of identity to the limit. His head swam with the changes that had taken place in his life. He finally concluded that he knew more about his place in the world and was less confident of it than before, a double-edged gift but one, which he was destined to carry. The only thing he was sure of was that he could hardly discard it as casually as he used to discard any number of his former conquests.

As if to the rescue, the memory of the conversations he's exchanged with George the previous night. That cheered up his rather flagging spirits.  
"Jo and I are determined that we shall give you a birthday present I promise that you won't forget in a hurry. Nor will Jo if I can help it. You're both coming round to my house. We've got everything arranged"  
"It's good to hear such dedication and enthusiasm." John had smiled, as this very enticing fantasy was promising to be very delightfully consummated in flesh and blood.  
"That's one way of describing it." George answered in her most arch drawl before becoming more businesslike. "Anyway, Jo is coming round to help me cook the dinner but you come round at eight and not before." John permitted himself a nostalgic smile as George's voice brought back fond memories. This was always her style during their marriage in organising their social life. His drifting thought then recalled that Jo was also in the relationship and, with an act of conscious unselfishness, considered that George's relationship with Jo was as important as his relationship was with Jo and George. He had to admit that this was not the way he had always felt. It felt a long time ago when he and Jo and George and Karen were supposedly watching TV together while Joe Channing had gone out leaving the not so young ones together. They had promptly paired off but not quite oblivious of each other. The extra special sexual spicing was John's voyeuristic interest in Karen's and George's sexual foreplay and supposedly being supposedly the sexual sophisticate in comparison with Jo. That scenario had been spun around so that John had to deal with the pangs of incipient abandonment as, surely, neither of them needed him any more. It had taken him a long time to be convinced of their love for him.

He was barely conscious of the razor buzzing in his hand. John wasn't really here in his flat on Tuesday December 6th 2005. In reality, he had been somewhere up to a year back in time if not longer. As his vision sharpened, he saw his face and, yes, he would still just about be ready in time for the next court case. "Just remember, John." Jo called out. "You come round at eight and we'll be ready for you"  
"So George told me." Came the patient reply.  
"…..and happy birthday." John strained his ears to pick out the words as Jo's voice trailed off as she revved up her car and to shoot off into the distance.

George had only just got in from court and had just started to look round her kitchen to organise the meal when the doorbell rang which signaled Jo's arrival. She sighed to herself at Jo's punctuality when what she wanted was time to prepare herself for the invasion of her kitchen. The distinct prospect of not one but two extra bodies in her bed fazed George not at all. The danger of an intrusion into the private space of her kitchen was something that was already making her twitchy. The order in which she placed the Spice jars in its rack were hers to decide, not some well meaning blundering intruder even if you did sleep with her. She greeted Jo with her biggest smile and a hug and a kiss and gritted her teeth for what she must endure.

"I'm ready to help out, George. You show me the way to the kitchen"  
"Of course, darling"  
Jo ran her eyes over George's immaculate kitchen. Except for what had been set out already, it was obviously kept in spotless order and made her own kitchen look decidedly informal, not to say cluttered and disorganised. It was her way and it worked, so she defended herself from the invisible critic. Everyone had been fed over the years, including two temperamental teenage boys. This was clearly not George's approach and she became a little apprehensive. "How can I help out, George"  
The other woman took a deep breath, wondering which part of the operation that she jealously kept to herself could be safely delegated. Her need to control tussled for battle with the need to spread the load before the appointed hour when John called.  
"Well………if you don't mind giving me a hand with preparing the potatoes and the spinach"  
"Sure." Jo said with aplomb before leaving it that fatal three seconds before asking a follow up question.  
"Er, George, I don't suppose you could tell me where you keep the potato peeler"  
Jo was quite willing to be dogsbody and look for it herself if George told her where but, instead, the other woman made a surprisingly rapid lunge for the top drawer, rattled about in the drawer and passed it to her.  
"Thanks, George." While George attacked the preparation of the duck in spirited fashion, Jo quietly prepared her part of the meal in an unhurried fashion. Eventually, George put the duck in the oven and the saucepanful of potatoes to part boil. While everything was cooking, Jo plucked up her courage to make her next helpful suggestion.  
"What else are we having, George"  
"My favourite orange sauce, which I'll make myself." George said very decidedly.  
"I might as well set the table if you tell me where everything is." Jo asked with elaborate casualness. George was caught up in a real dilemma that was clearly visible on her face. Jo could clearly tell how nervous she was of anyone daring to go five yards of the holies of holies and she could imagine the utter precision with which they were stored. If she hadn't picked up on the tension that was radiating off her in waves, the way she fidgeted with her hands indecisively was an obvious giveaway.

"I suppose that two pairs of hands are better than one. You'll find the best plates in the second shelf from the top left hand of the cupboard and all the cutlery is in"  
George rattled out the instructions at express speed and at great length that made Jo's head spin. She coped as best she could and, even after a day's work. Jo managed to bluff her way through by reasoning backwards as to where George would keep certain items so that she could pretend that she'd remembered everything George had told her. Even then, she was highly conscious that George kept shooting glances out of the corner of her eye to check how Jo was getting on. After a while, the oven started to announce delicious cooking smells while George hovered intently over the cooker. The sink started to collect what would have been the advance guard of the monstrous wave of pots, pans, plates and cutlery to be washed up if it weren't for her dishwasher.  
They worked together silently for what seemed a long while until Jo broke the silence.  
"Shall I make the pudding"  
George stretched her back and smiled more comfortably. They had accomplished what she set out for them to do in very short order and it was clear that they would have time on their hands before John arrived.  
"No problem, Jo. I made it last night and kept it the fridge to set. All it needs is whipped cream on top"  
Intrigued, Jo walked over to the fridge and, in a cut glass bowl, saw some delicious homemade decorated chocolate mousse. She stuck out a finger to pinch a taste of it only George slapped her hand away from it very playfully.  
"Don't touch, Jo, not for the moment anyway. If you're very patient, who knows what we could do with it later." "Is that a promise, George?" Jo questioned with a slight smirk on her face, suddenly acting her age again.  
"I always keep my promises, Jo." George responded with her best sensual drawl.

John had spent his time in a leisurely fashion and had carefully pondered which of his smart suits he should wear and the precise selection of white shirts. He had carefully studied all his birthday cards. His only family who sent a card was his sister in Coventry, which was an unpleasant reminder that, on his fifty sixth birthday, the ranks of uncles and aunts had thinned out drastically over the years and any distant cousins were, well, conspicuous by their distance especially on his birthday. Every other card was from friends and acquaintances but the cards from George and Jo were the most precious to him. In a contemplative mood, he presented himself on George's doorstep and was gratified to be greeted, not by one pair of female arms and a kiss but with two.  
"I'm not too early, am I?" He asked.  
Jo had to hand it to George that her reply sounded as utterly convincing as was her dazzling smile of greeting.  
"Why, John darling, your sense of timing is immaculate"  
"Happy birthday, John." Came Jo's simple response. "I think I might have said that before but you might not have heard me." John stood hesitating for a second but George, the mistress of ceremonies, gestured to John to take his place in the dining room.  
"I just about heard you as you drove away"  
George shut the door behind her and her eyes swiveled to what she could visualise was happening in the kitchen and drifted over to the dining table where she discreetly and minutely adjusted the positions of the nearest knives and forks. She surveyed her territory with an all seeing eye and declared it perfect in her mind.  
"How does your birthday feel to you, John"  
"I was just thinking over the changes since this time last year, one year older and hopefully wiser but knowing there's so much more to know in a year than I ever thought possible." John's ruminative tone proceeded slowly. A flavour of his thoughts first thing in the morning came back to haunt him.  
"That sounds unusually humble and philosophical for you"  
"I just know that I know a lot less about life than I thought I did"  
"All this philosophising about life may be frightfully interesting but we're serving dinner in ten minutes time, Jo." George's voice hailed Jo clearly through the dining room wall with that authentic dominance. "You're to sit down, John, unless you want to uncork the champagne." Smilingly, Jo retired discreetly and, while John popped the cork of the bottle, George and Jo brought in the dinner on silver platters.

It was now that George became expansive in her manner as the pressure was off her. The plates were served with neatly cut slivers of roast duck, little fried potatoes and artistically arranged spinach with an old favourite of his, orange sauce which John remembered nostalgically from the happier days of their marriage. The mellow atmosphere was helped by the way that the December evening had drawn in quickly. George had lit three candles in their gleaming silver holders and the warm glow cast a feeling of intimacy on the three of them. Truly, George arranged social affairs to perfection and after her initial bout of nerves, the other side of her came out, utterly charming and magnetic.

"To John." George toasted them, clinking her champagne glass musically against John and Jo's.  
"To all of us." John neatly corrected them.  
"Yes, that's right." Smiled George with a long sideways glance at Jo.

The meal passed off in that easy companionable manner which made John feel utterly at home, and it was fitting that Jo was with him as George was. Sometimes one or the other had shared birthdays but never both at the same time. As for George and Jo, the warm feeling of pleasure in each other's company cast an enchantment over the occasion. George had relaxed so much that she was content to leave the pile of washing up in the kitchen. That could be sorted out whenever. Nothing mattered than that feeling of intimacy between the three of them and all three of them knew full well that none of them were going anywhere else, not tonight, as the three of them cuddled up on the settee, sipping the last of the champagne.

A good while later when they eventually went up to bed, George couldn't help but wonder if she really was in the mood for this. "As it's your birthday, darling," She said, solicitously removing his tie. "Your wish is our command." "And given the infrequency of your saying that to me," He teased her gently. "I must of course make full use of it." "As if we'd expect any different from you," Jo told him blithely. "Then in that case," John said silkily. "I would give anything to see you two together." "How did I guess," George said with a fond smile. Flicking the small stereo on the dressing table onto some softly haunting though utterly romantic music, John sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room. As he relaxed back in the chair, watching both of his beautifully proportioned women beginning to dance, he thought that he couldn't possibly be happier. As they moved languorously in time to the subtly flowing music, they began slowly removing each other's clothes, making John briefly wonder if they'd choreographed this in advance. Only when they were both entirely naked did they move over to the bed, hands languidly wandering, both of them trying to keep John's lingering gaze in mind. George immediately took the guiding role, gently pushing Jo onto her back, her hands moving over her skin as she kissed her. John couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. They hadn't made love all three of them together very often, but he had always been previously involved, whereas now he was being given the most erotic display imaginable. George's hands were everywhere, expertly teasing every erogenous zone she could find. Having had her hands on his own body far more times than he could ever remember, John felt that he could probably estimate just how good that was for Jo. George nibbled her way down until she was suckling on Jo's right nipple, making John's eyes widen in response. Should that really look as incredible as it did, he wondered? He shifted his position slightly, his trousers becoming noticeably tighter the more he saw. George's right hand was moving between Jo's slightly spread legs now, with John alternating between loving his side-on view, and wanting to be part of it. But when George began kissing her way down Jo's body, John waited in almost unbearable anticipation for what he knew must be coming. Jo gasped as George's tongue swept over her sensitive flesh, finally beginning to lose her cool in this slightly odd situation. She would never have thought of herself as one to enjoy an audience, but knowing that John was sitting literally feet from her, watching them do this, gave her a feeling of supreme naughtiness that she knew she'd never felt before. She could feel that her nipples were painfully hard by now, and that George was hungrily taking in every morsel of sexual secretion she had to offer. When Jo came, her whole body spasmed, as she gripped a handful of pillow, digging her nails into the material to prevent herself from screaming. George's lips removed everything Jo had to give, after which she balanced upright on her knees, and beckoned John towards her. 

Neither of them wanted to ruin the mood of Jo's clearly powerful orgasm, so neither of them spoke. When John rose from the chair and approached his wayward little minx, she pulled him down towards her, kissing him with a fervour that almost tumbled him down onto the bed with them. God, to taste Jo's essence on George's lips, it was amazing. Of all the weird and wonderful sexual acts he had taken part in, this was by far the most erotic. Jo's taste on George's soft, sensual, undoubtedly female lips made him want to thrust himself inside either one or both of them right now. George laughed huskily as she tenderly cupped his erection through his trousers. "I think you're wearing a little too much, darling. Don't you?" Taking the very last of Jo's familiar taste from her, John swiftly began removing his clothes. "It always amazed me how you manage to do that so quickly," Jo said a little drowsily. "He's had plenty of practice," George replied mockingly, as John moved round to her side of the bed, making her alter her position so that she could keep track of his movements. The look in his eye was entirely predatory, the gleam of intention clear for her to see. Had she not known John as well as she did, she might in that fleeting moment of expectation have been ever so slightly frightened of him. He was as firmly raised for the down beat as her baton had been back in April. Moving to the other side of the bed to encourage his claiming of her, she exchanged a look with Jo, asking if this was all right, and receiving a smile in return. When John slid onto the bed and took her in his arms, she could feel the need in him as though it was being exuded through every one of his pores. When he began touching her, Jo turned onto her side to join in, both of them touching her everywhere in order to arouse her thoroughly. When John finally sank his length deep inside her with a groan, he also slid a gently seeking hand between Jo's legs, wanting her to enjoy this as much as he was going to. Jo's hand crept between their writhing bodies, seeking out George's clitoris, wanting to maximise her pleasure. Perhaps this was when George realised that her earlier misgivings had been justified. Her body was to some extent aroused, but her mind simply couldn't accompany it on the path towards pleasure's peak. She writhed expertly underneath John, wanting to make this the best birthday he'd ever had. She kept her face slightly turned away from him, knowing that her eyes were always her downfall in revealing her true feelings. She began to gasp most realistically when she felt that John was nearing his climax, crying out at his point of completion as though she had joined him in their quest for release. 

A good while later when they were settling down to sleep, George was in the middle, with Jo on her left and John on her right. She turned onto her side to face John, and seeming to know that she wished to hide, he cuddled her against his chest. She could feel in this one, simple gesture that he knew what she'd done, but then she didn't really expect anything else. She had faked her orgasm mainly for Jo's benefit, because this was all still so new to her, and what she didn't need was any uncertainty about George's feeling towards the situation. She felt Jo cuddle up behind her, and suddenly began to feel very safe, and incredibly cared for lying between them like this. "Happy birthday," George said sleepily to John. "I love you both," He said in reply, dropping a gentle kiss onto George's lips, and giving Jo's hand a squeeze. 


	53. Chapter 53

Part Fifty-Three

Jo could not help smirking at George as she entered her office. The events of John's birthday party were strongly embedded in her mind and the sexual feast that all three of them had indulged in was a red letter day in Jo's life. Jo could not help thinking how absurdly prim and proper she felt in her favourite demure pin stripe suit, her skirt ending just on her knee. It showed her that appearances could be deceptive. In turn, George read her thoughts and smiled. It was appropriate that George's very office was situated in the land of temptation as it was right in the heart of Knightsbridge, the very centre of expensive shopping territory. If she had had some spare time on her hands, she could so very easily drift past the second or third shop and be swallowed up for a few hours as would be a chunk of her bank balance.  
"I wonder if we can both keep a straight face in court in future if we are appearing before John." "That depends on what sort of appearance you have in mind, darling." Drawled George. Jo's sunny mood had rubbed off on George who could see the humour of the situation. It was obvious to her that the expansions of her relationships had taught Jo to loosen up. George glanced out of the window and the weather outside looked surprisingly bright and cheerful for December. The sun shone at a low angle, through the large windows, straight into George's large, spacious room, and illuminated the soft pastel colours in a gentle glow. It reflected the way that Jo felt inside, lazy and replete and not really in the mood to hurl herself into her car to pursue her next case. She sprawled out in her chair and ,in a leisurely fashion sipped her cup of tea. George felt pretty relaxed and was sat facing the clock, which ticked away the minutes in a remorseless fashion. "Come on, Jo, we simply have to be going or we'll be frightfully late, the way London traffic is"  
"And here's you acting as the unexpected voice of conscience and duty." George smiled broadly but briskly gathered the files and slid them in a large briefcase. Life presented such ironies. If they had ever worked together in the past as a twosome, she would have guaranteed that Jo would have been the brisk, efficient clock-watching one of the partnership. This time, Jo followed George down the staircase and got into George's car. It would help both of them to limber up for the interview with Barbara to exchange ideas as George drove.

"You've been very quiet about the interview. I thought I was supposed to be the junior partner and to be guided by you"  
Jo laughed at the arch way that George delivered her smiling rebuke.  
"I keep everything in my head, George. I'll be ready for Barbara when the time comes"  
"But there's two of us on this case. You needn't think that you have to hold the world up on your shoulders alone. It's not my style just to sit back and watch. I like a more 'hands on' approach"  
"Just what are you talking about, George? The trial"  
"Of course." Came George's sweetly reasonable reply. "What else might I be talking about?……………………..Look, Jo, it's the first time that both of us are working at the same time on this case rather than me just doing the donkeywork for you. We're in for a tough trial which will be very wearing, on you especially. Remember what I told you when you first agreed for me to help. I said that you'd be likely to take this case too personally for your own good, like the Diana Hulsey case. Let's face it, as barristers, we're self willed individualists but we both need to practice fitting round each other, professionally speaking. We need to be able to get the best out of both of us when we get to court. Therefore, darling, I'll take no denial that we start our first rehearsal today. You think about it and you have to admit that I'm right"  
She can wrap me round her little finger, grinned Jo to herself as she reflected on the curious way that her voice arched its way between the flirtatious and the practical. She's right, of course, both of them will have to get used to changing their approach to handling casework.  
"There's one question that I'm not sure of the answer and that is whether or not we ask for a psychological assessment to be prepared for Barbara. What do you think"  
"Your points being, Jo"  
Jo reflected awhile to allow her thoughts to take shape while George drove at a leisurely pace through the London streets.  
"On the face of it, Barbara is likely to come over in court as a sensible, stable woman. However, it is easily arguable that the situation of her husband dying put extraordinary pressures on her and not for the first time. The prosecution could argue that she decided to end Henry's life prematurely as a rational decision to save him any more suffering or alternatively that she acted while the balance of her mind was disturbed….…the matter could cut both ways. "  
"While we would counter argue that , because she was imprisoned over the assisted death of her second husband, she would never dare risk placing herself in the same situation again or, alternatively, her state of her mind was too disturbed to even contemplate such an action." George capped Jo's proposition.  
"……so we ought to have the assessment carried out to have a better idea as to how the cards will fall. You're right, George. We need the answers to this question before the trial even starts"  
"……so therefore, we need the services of a reliable psychiatrist. Meg Richards, my first choice, is unavailable so the resident psychiatrist at Larkhall comes to mind, Dr Waugh"  
"………as long as he has learnt his lesson from his performance at the Atkins trial. An intelligent man and sincere, but under prepared and over confident"  
Both women briefly looked at each other for a fraction of a second. That meshing together of styles was starting to happen. After years of fighting each other tooth and nail in and out of court, they were starting to glimpse the possibilities of a style opening up. Then George slammed on the brakes as she saw a lorry suddenly stop in the queue for the next set of traffic lights that turned red on them. "I'm sorry, Jo, but I simply have to drive a little faster as we're be running late"  
George was right again. They were cutting it fine for their appointment with Barbara. 

Screeching to a halt on the loose gravel, George triumphantly switched off the engine and beamed triumphantly at Jo.  
"I told you we would get here on time, darling. I'm never late for a client"  
Jo didn't answer for a bit. She felt a little queasy and her left ankle ached a bit from pressing an imaginary brake pedal while George had cut a glorious swathe through the London traffic. She ruefully reflected that she might abstractly admire the skill of a champion rally driver but she would prefer to watch it on TV. She certainly wouldn't want to be a passenger in that car. She kept shutting her eyes at George's cornering technique and her ability to overtake through the most perilous of gaps. "Well, I did say we were running late, darling"  
"I should congratulate you on your attention to duty, George."Jo answered a little stiffly.  
"Let's have a cigarette before we go in." George kindly suggested as she saw that Jo was looking a little pale.

A gentle winter wind very lightly ruffled their hair as they looked far away into the gentle rays of the sun as they smoked their cigarettes at their leisure. For those very few minutes, the relentless call of their internal clocks was quietly switched off. They let the peace and tranquility run through their hands for those precious minutes before Jo took the initiative and stubbed her cigarette out.  
"Come on, George, I'm ready"  
Assuming their businesslike air, they passed through the security cordon, both human and physical and Gina walked with them to the brief's room. They strode confidently onwards as by now, they were used to the intricate pattern of corridors.  
"You'll find Babs in fine spirits. We've been looking after her. Give us a shout when you're done," came Gina's parting words and a smile on her face.

Barbara smiled and stood up as Jo and George entered the small poky room.  
"There must be a reason why both of you are here." She observed, looking sharply at them over her spectacles though she was obviously pleased to see them both.  
"There is indeed, Barbara. For a start, we have a date set for the trial and that is Monday February 6th, Barbara." Jo advised her gently."We needed to see you to run through with you the witnesses that we would like to call to give evidence in your support"  
"Good heavens. That's only two months time. I hadn't thought that far ahead"  
Both women could sense that Barbara had deliberately floated along in limbo, not thinking of the impending trial which could decide her freedom or otherwise and, least of all, of the tragic events that led up to her arrest. It was probably for the best that she had not racked her brains as to what she might say at her trial and what might be said to her and about her. That attitude of mind had served its purpose but could not last forever. "We've come here together also as the two of us have to get used to working together as a team on the same side. As you know, if barristers have a fault, we tend to be prima donnas with overpowering dramatic compulsions to upstage the other partner"  
Barbara smiled slightly at George's humour and her delicate reference to the rehearsals for "The Creation" without making that comparison too explicit. "Perhaps we ought to get down to business." Suggested Barbara mildly.  
"The trial is going to depend to a great degree on medical evidence as to what could and could not have happened to Henry. The two obvious witnesses as to what would have happened are Tom Campbell-Gore and Zubin Khan covering the medical and the anaesthetist aspects. Between them, they will cover the medical fields that we need to testify what could and could not have happened on the night in question"  
"Very good"  
"You will remember Dr.Kay Scarpetta visiting you a couple of months ago. Her specialist knowledge is essential to the trial as only she has the knowledge to directly reason backwards as to what actually did happen on the afternoon in question"  
"I remember her vividly," Barbara reminisced. "She is a charming woman with a bewildering wide array of knowledge in her field and I have every confidence in her"  
"We were talking after we took you to see her."George replied, deftly inserting herself into the conversation just as Jo opened her mouth. "There was something she said which impressed me deeply, that , and I quote 'I'm in court to give the victims of crime a voice, because I am the only way that the dead can speak to a jury. They need me to interpret whatever has happened to them, something which can't always be put into words"  
Barbara smiled brightly at those words. She had faith that her dear Henry had the will to speak up in court to defend her and that this very educated and highly talented American woman had the means to translate that will into words.  
"That gives me immense comfort. I have sometimes felt that my dear Henry is watching over me. Your words tell me that I have more tangible reason for this hope"  
"We are going to ask Nikki Wade to give evidence as a character witness for you. I don't think that there is anyone more capable than her and she can give evidence in an official capacity if you see what I mean." Barbara nodded. Nikki was naturally one of the most steadfast women she had ever known. She had noticed at a distance that her role as wing governor had only amplified and refined those qualities and never in a million years had she used her official persona as a substitute for natural authority.  
"Of course, I had plenty of opportunity to chat to Nikki to our heart's content during the Atkins trial while you were busy ensconced with your evidence and lawbooks,"added George irrepressibly to Jo's semi-audible sigh under her breath of 'typical.  
"That leaves us one matter which we wanted to bring up."Jo weighed in with slow deliberation."It was a matter that George and I only discussed on the way over…" After George had eagerly nodded agreement, Jo was very conveniently left to carry on with broaching a delicate topic.  
"We were wondering if you could consider being medically assessed so that we are forearmed against anything the prosecution can throw against us"  
Barbara took her spectacles off and carefully polished them while she looked uncomprehendingly at the two women in turn.  
"Nonsense. I'm as fit as a fiddle"  
"We weren't exactly specifically of that but more in terms of a psychological profile in mind as well"  
"Are you suggesting that I'm mad or at the least that I was mad at the time?" came Barbara's rejoinder, sharper than before.  
"George and I can foresee that questions about your state of mind are very likely to arise in the course of the trial and I know that if you have the bad fortune that who is nearest and dearest is slowly and painfully dying, the emotional pressures on you have to be lived through to be believed. It can rock the foundations of the strongest and the pressure never gives up from morning to night for months on……It is never safe to assume that just because you are known to act in a particular way and not in other ways, that this will hold good while you're going through this particular form of hell……" Jo stopped as Barbara had obviously picked up on the incredible intensity in Jo's voice. She judged that there was something going on here that there was more than met the eye.It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Jo just how did she come to know and describe human tragedy so intimately and insightfully. She held back just in time.  
"But is it necessary? I assume the prosecution will seek to blacken my name as a serial murderer of loved husbands?" "George and I have considered the variety of approaches that the prosecution might try. For a start, they will almost certainly seek to obtain their own medical experts and use them to make all sorts of suggestions about what you may have felt or what you might have felt and, generally, lay it on with a trowel. We need to have something solid to refute their arguments"  
Barbara paused for reflection. She could see the force of the arguments but she felt in fine fettle right now. She was torn between dismissing this as utterly redundant and a sneaking fear of what might be brought up into the light of day that she didn't know of.  
"I can see your point but I'm not very happy about the idea. I know my own mind and I don't think that some stranger will know it any better than I do"  
"Good. There's nothing for you to be afraid of." George replied lightly but with perfect aplomb.  
"Have you anyone in mind, if and only if I agree to this scheme"  
Both Jo and George glanced sideways at each other and hesitated, knowing full well what Barbara's reaction would be. She had witnessed him giving evidence for the prosecution in the Atkins trial and was pretty scathing in her opinions of him .Finally George, after giving up on any way of sugaring the pill, opted for the direct approach.  
"We were thinking of asking Dr. Thomas Waugh"  
"That man? I saw him at Lauren's trial and his performance was shambolic and his morals in giving evidence for the prosecution, questionable in the very extreme. I'm surprised that you could even contemplate such a suggestion. "  
"We did think very carefully about the idea and there are a number of reasons to pick him. For one, Meg Richards is simply far too busy to take on the work. Another reason was that Dr Waugh was handicapped from the start as Lauren wasn't in a mood to talk to him. Once Jo knocked him off his perch ,he's bound to do an excellent job for us. He'll learn as he has the two of us to reckon with. Together, we can scare the living daylights out of him if we chose to do and he knows it." Barbara's severe expression gradually softened as she gauged that these two very forceful women might have a chance of keeping him up to the mark. It was tempting but one thought popped into her mind as a way of resolving the matter.  
"Have you asked Nikki for her opinion of him? After all, she saw him at Lauren's trial and probably has dealt with him more than anyone else"  
Both Jo and George looked as if they were illuminated from within. This was an excellent suggestion and they knew they should run with this.  
"We haven't asked Nikki but we ought to. Tell you what, would you agree to him being our final witness if Nikki thinks it's a good idea and Dr Waugh's willing and able?" George's silky persuasive tones whittled away at the last of her reservations. Barbara felt confident that Nikki's judgement could be relied upon. "We'll go off when time's up and if we can clear up these points, then we assume that you'll agree to it and we'll ask Nikki to pass you the word."

"Yeah, Dr Waugh's the man for you," Nikki assured the very relieved George and Jo over a cup of tea in her office after visiting time had ended. "He knows what an idiot he made of himself and how wrong he was about Lauren. He's bright and articulate enough and, besides that, as SMO he's got the background knowledge on Barbara before everything blew up that he never had on Lauren. He was dropped in at the deep end in that trial and he won't do that again. I've got on with him fine since I've been wing governor and he has a lot of the same ideas on inmates that I have. It's funny," reflected Nikki in slower, more reflective tones, "I could never find it in me to despise or hate him, even when he was going out with Helen, when Helen and I had had a bust up. He did go down in my estimation at Lauren's trial but he's made good since then"  
"Do you want to ask him if he'll be a witness or should we do so"  
"You leave it to me. It's the least I can do to help Barbara. I owe her so much from way back and I don't forget." 


	54. Chapter 54

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Fifty-Four

All day Wednesday, John couldn't take his mind off what had happened the night before. Both his and Jo's pleasure had been almost incomprehensible, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that George had faked the orgasm Jo thought they'd given her. Those simulated gasps and that final cry of ecstasy, that had fooled Jo perfectly, had been nothing more than a very good act. His George was incredibly complicated he knew that, but he really couldn't find a satisfactory reason for her latest bout of sexual disinterest. It wasn't anything he had done, at least he didn't think it was, but anything he did in bed for her lately just didn't seem to work. The night after the visit from Shell Dockley hadn't been all that successful either, he seemed to remember. Then a thought struck him. It was a very long time since he and George had done anything out of the ordinary. Well, maybe that was it, George was hankering after something different, but was too reticent to ask for it because of Jo. Well, Jo didn't have to know, now did she?

As he drove over to George's that evening, he wondered what she might be in the mood for. His thoughts strayed back to that night, so many years ago now, when she had finally plucked up the courage to tell him what was for her, her most shameful sexual wish. She had been drinking more than usual, which had told him that she was very nervous about something. It was a Saturday night, and with Charlie not yet even thought about, they had been languishing in front of the fire with some romantic music on the stereo, gently and sensually making love. Every kiss, every caress was lingered over, as they had all the time in the world to reach their peak. But George hadn't quite been able to achieve her release. When he had gently withdrawn from her, she had cried bitter tears over her failure to be moved by his touch, when he had been so tender with her all evening. John had simply held her, trying to soothe away all the self-reproach that was coming from her. She had kept telling him how sorry she was, and how much she loved him, as though her lack of orgasm was her fault. They'd been in the bath upstairs when she'd finally told him. He'd cajoled her into talking to him about what was bothering her, and she had tentatively explained that it was something she really shouldn't want him to do to her. She'd said that she didn't want to tell him because she didn't want him to go off her altogether. John had laughed at this, and told her that no matter what she appeared to find sexually arousing, he would definitely still love her, but she wasn't convinced. "It can't be that bad," He tried to persuade her. "You never know, I might have tried it before." She'd done a deal with him, against her better judgment, and told him that if he began making love to her again, here, now, she would tell him. In the end, she had shown him, not told him, because the up and coming barrister, George Channing, simply couldn't put it into words. "Is that all," John had said in fond realisation. "There's nothing wrong with that. Sure, it isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I certainly don't have a problem with it. I would with a perfect stranger, but not with someone whose body I know inside out already." "You would tell me if you loathed the idea, wouldn't you?" she needed that reassurance. "Yes," He told her honestly. But as his hands had moved over her as she internally gripped him, with her legs wrapped round him in the warm, scented water, he found a certain curiosity in doing what she wanted. He had done this for her, taking her to a height of almost shameful ecstasy that he hadn't seen in her for some time. When she had collapsed against him utterly exhausted, he'd gently kissed her. "Don't ever be afraid to tell me anything," He told her seriously. "I love everything about you, even the bits of you that routinely drive me to distraction, so promise me that if you ever want to try something that you think is a little odd, just remember that I will at the very least give it due consideration." 

When he arrived, George was lying on the sofa, wearing just a thin, black nightie and listening to some soft though depressing music on the stereo. She wasn't surprised to hear him let himself in, thankful that she didn't have to move from in front of the fire. "This is a nice surprise," She said as he appeared, though in truth she would rather he had stayed away. The lights were low, casting a subtle glow on her body, with her face in shadow. "I wanted to see you," He said, joining her on the sofa. "Any special reason?" She asked as he kissed her. "Or is it just my body you're after." John winced at this, because it was to discuss her body that he had come to see her in the first place. "I want to talk about last night," He told her gently. "What about last night?" She asked, slightly stiffening. "It was fabulous." "George," He said almost disappointedly. "Did you really think I wouldn't realise that you were putting on the best act I've ever seen from anyone?" Turning her face away from him, George remained quiet. She didn't know what to say, because he was right. She had faked it last night, more to appease Jo than to fool John, because she knew the latter was virtually impossible. "George, look at me," He gently encouraged. "I'm sorry," she said bitterly, turning back to face him. "I wanted to enjoy it, really I did. To tell you the truth, I really don't know what's wrong with me at the moment." He could see the tears shining in her eyes, and the struggle it was taking her not to let them fall. "I think you're depressed," He said seriously. "I'm not sure why, but I think that might be part of the problem." "So then, master of all philosophy," She fondly teased him. "What do you suppose the rest of it is?" John looked very pensive at this question, because he wasn't entirely sure how to broach the subject of her out of the way sexuality. "It occurred to me," He began carefully. "That it's been a considerably long time since we did anything out of the ordinary. It also occurred to me, that something a little different might be what you are currently looking for, but are hesitant to ask for it because of Jo." Her eyes widened as he said this, because she hadn't in actual fact thought anything of the sort. "It's not something I'd really thought about," She said with a slight smile. "Though I suppose anything's worth a try." "Is there anything in particular that grabs your interest?" "I don't know," She said thoughtfully. "It's so long since I ventured into the unknown so to speak." "I wondered," John said slowly. "If you might like me to do for you, the thing that it took you so long to tell me about." Instantly, her body went rigid with mortification. She knew exactly to what he was referring, and it almost frightened her that he had voluntarily raised this subject. "I didn't think you'd still do that for me," She said quietly. "Not after all this time." "George, if you still want it, if you still find the idea of it a turn on, then I am perfectly happy to give it to you." "Why are you so good to me?" She asked, the tears finally trickling down her cheeks. "Because I love you," He told her simply, gently kissing away the few stray tears that speckled her face. 

As they went up the stairs, George's body slightly tingled with anticipation. What John was about to do for her, at the same time as one of their usual activities, wasn't something she'd had done to her for more years than she cared to remember. She half wondered if she would still like it as much as she had done back in the early days of their marriage. Their hands feverishly removed each other's clothes as they waited for the water in the shower to warm up, John being almost as excited about this as George herself. This wasn't something he'd ever done to anyone else, though there had been the odd woman who'd asked it of him. When they stepped under the shower, their hands were everywhere. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" George asked him breathlessly between kisses. "One hundred percent," He assured her, sinking to his knees and kissing his way along her beautifully toned thighs. Knowing precisely where he was heading, George leaned against the wall for support, a hand resting on his shoulder to steady herself under his onslaught. Why did she always taste quite so divine, he wondered, his mouth fastened over her feminine flesh. She groaned luxuriously as his tongue alternately dove inside her and swiped across her clitoris. He had his hands on her hips to steady her, but as her pleasure mounted, he reached behind her for the bottle of shower gel on the side of the bath. Squeezing a large blob into his hands, he thoroughly lubricated his fingers. Keeping his left arm round her waist to hold her in place, he delicately ran the tip of his right index finger down the cleft of her buttocks, eventually circling her puckered entrance. "Mmm," She groaned as he did this, all the shameful enjoyment of this act sweeping over her. When he gently inched his lubricated finger inside her, she cried out, the sensation of it feeling incredible though at the same time foreign to her. As his lips nibbled on her clitoris, his tongue stimulating the surrounding nerve endings, he silkily moved his finger in and out of her, feeling her reflexively clenching around it. As his movements sped up, her breath came in quicker and quicker gasps, finally pouring out of her in a cry of sheer pleasure. 

When her legs gave way under her, he caught her in his arms, laying her against his chest. Her whole body was shuddering from the force of her emotional release, the tears pouring over his bare chest, mingling with the spray from the shower. He softly stroked her shoulders, trying to soothe away some of the torrent that seemed to be never ending. Eventually she calmed down, yet she still hadn't said a word to him. This wasn't unlike the first time he had done this for her, he thought with a smile. She had been so overwhelmed by it, that she had remained utterly silent for some time afterwards. Gently helping her to her feet, he switched off the shower and reached for a soft, thick towel. There was something so tender in the way he carefully dried her, that it almost provoked a further surge of tears from her. Not long after when they were in bed, she finally spoke. "Thank you," She said quietly, not knowing what else to say. "My pleasure," He told her with a smile, which reminded her that he hadn't achieved any kind of release this evening. "I ought to have returned the favour," she said apologetically. "I wanted tonight to be about you, not me," He told her seriously. "So don't think any more about it." "I love you," She said drowsily as she drifted towards sleep, meaning these three simple words more than she had any others of her entire life. 


	55. Chapter 55

Part Fifty-Five

Karen remembered her feelings so vividly the instant that she had moved back to her flat ,only three short weeks ago. That was why she had wanted to leave, to move on. After all, this had been a consistent pattern in her life in so many different ways.

She had blinked her eyes as soon as she had shut the door behind her in that supposed moment of fulfillment of reclaiming that blessed familiarity of her own home. She had stood rooted to the spot as she started to take in all the familiar surroundings. Every object had been in its rightful place to her, every piece of furniture, the draped curtains at the back and front of her large living room, the low table where she had often done her work, every ornament, even a bottle of wine that she'd forgotten to put away in the rush to get packed to stay over at Nikki and Helen's flat. Everything had been in place, everything ……except her. This painful confession had been wrenched out of her despite her most rigid determination not to give way to it, to try and push that thought right down to the uttermost depths of herself. That way, she could have pretended not to hear that traitorous voice within her describing that she had felt ripped out and away from her rightful place and had been badly grafted back into place. Just this one time, that familiar tactic of hers hadn't worked and feelings of panic had spiraled up inside her, making it difficult to breathe. She had started to inhale and exhale in short rapid blasts of air and she had looked wildly round the room. The room had started to swim and tilt before her eyes.Eventually, she had more collapsed than sat down into a nearby chair and lay there spread-eagled in the chair. Time passed before by some unaccountable miracle, the beginnings of calming sensations had started to seep through her. She had put her hand to her forehead and it felt sweaty.

Now that her mind had fully burst open like a long suppressed volcano, the memories of the night that Shell had broken in came back to haunt her. If she really wanted to get back to belonging back in the flat where she had lived, logic had told her that this experience belonged inescapably to the flat. The thought had made her feel cold inside yet that spark of resolution inside her had come to her rescue as it always had done. She had no choice but to allow herself to replay the horror movie and watch from the front row, wide screen. Everything was starting to take shape in her mind and she had let herself reflect on how she felt, how she should see herself as others saw her. Somehow she had reached for that capacity for perspective and her fingers had stretched out for it with just enough of a firm grip.  
It was funny the way she had chatted away to Shell almost as if it was the old days, even though Shell was technically the criminal burglar. She had felt curiously detached from the interesting fact that they were talking together in her flat, that she let her quite naturally borrow her toilet as much as any other welcome guest. They'd reminisced about the old days. Shell had even noticed the scars on her arm and, yes she was genuinely sorry for her. She'd meant her absolutely no harm as she'd simply and truthfully asked that Karen could help her be reunited with her son, hardly the act of a woman who was evil personified. Shell had been totally open and trusting to her and she had cruelly betrayed her. Yes, she had to say it, Shell had felt as betrayed and as lost as she had been when her own son Ross took her life, someone whom she would have given as much to be reunited with him as Shell would have given to be reunited with her son. Both dreams were as hopeless and futile as each other that self punishingly honest side of Karen had concluded so bitterly. She had always had that link with Shell that she could never explain to herself, let alone to anyone else. Now it was all too plain and obvious. So why did she do it, she demanded of herself? Because Shell Dockley was an escaped inmate of a secure hospital and it was her duty not to let her stroll out of her flat to go elsewhere and she was highly conscious of the very real threat that Shell Dockley had posed to John. She wondered why he ever imagined that his stature as a high court judge would pacify Shell of all people. For a man whose manner spoke so obviously as the sophisticated man of the world, John could be dangerously naïve in the same way when he had slept with her at that very ill-starred conference, the flavour of which promised so much for others and which had turned to ashes in her mouth. Tears had streamed down her face as she had sat in the dimly lit cozy feel of what was, after all, her own home when she had never felt more estranged from herself and her home , in all her life.

Practical instinct had driven her to prize open the cork from the bottle of wine, pour herself a drink and reach for a cigarette. It was then that she had tried to get a grip on the situation and had taken a leaf out of John's book in starting to assimilate scattered facts and put them together in some logical order and separate out the essential from the incidental, if not totally irrelevant. She had to admit that the taste of the wine and the soothing nicotine, a totally un John approach, had helped at that moment. She had only been away for a day while the workmen had made good the damage and had pronounced the flat safe and secure. They had done work for her before and had been thoroughly competent so, logically speaking, there was nothing to worry about but that was not what her still raw nerves had been still beseeching her to understand.

As she had taken a swig from the stray bottle of wine, her mind was made up in a flash. To her delight, it reconciled the more imaginative side of her, which she distrusted, and the practical, sensible side of her, which didn't always deliver the goods. She would have to move to another flat. It was nothing earthshaking, she had comforted herself, she had done it before from when she had split up with Fenner. Therefore, logically thinking, she could do that again. After all, hadn't she always tended to be a 'moving on' kind of woman, whether it was houses or relationships. Her flat had been what she had wanted for these past few years but if being comfortable with herself again meant going elsewhere, then so be it. Looking round the flat, it had seemed not so much that she had suddenly become hypersensitive and neurotic but rather, that she had been blind to the obvious dangers. It was so flimsily built so that even an amateur burglar like Shell Dockley had been able to break in so easily while she and John had slept through it, oblivious.

That resolution brought her where she was at lunchtime on Wednesday December 7th 2005, to reach for her phone to mark the first step in a new beginning.

"Helen, it's Karen here"  
"Hi Karen," that sprightly, unmistakably accented voice called back at her and immediately lightened her spirits. "It's nice to here from you. How's it felt like, settling back in?" "Everything's physically fine, no passing stray vandals have trashed the place. It's just that….." "…….it doesn't feel the same, Karen, as if your most private, most intimate part of yourself had been intruded on"  
"Violated would be a more exact word to describe how I'm feeling"  
Helen smiled to herself. Karen had made the exact connection for herself, one in which direction she had edged her gently.  
"Do you never give up being the psychologist, Helen? I ought to be careful in my choice of friends." Karen retorted in a half joking tone.  
"No more than you give up being governing governor, Karen. I had a brief taste of that, the feeling of power, of world domination"  
Fifteen love to Helen, Karen conceded with a wry smile at Helen's laughing reply. That bit of verbal jousting had cheered her up, however. Taking that thought further, she judged that this was precisely what Helen had been aiming at. This had the makings of an over the phone, 'mini therapy' session. In turn, the thought that Karen might be the sort of person who, one day, would need her professional help had never crossed Helen's mind but then again, she would have once said the same about that august presence on the judge's throne that was her first experience of seeing John Deed from afar.  
"What I was going to ask you was much more practical than to ask you to muck around with my psyche." She proceeded dryly. "I wondered if you could come round with me tonight to give a second opinion on a flat I'd spotted as I want to move house, put everything behind me and move on"  
Helen thought matters over. Nikki had announced that she was having an evening in to plough through some paperwork at home while Helen was at a loose end. It would do both of them good though she wondered if Karen genuinely wanted her advice or merely to confirm what she really wanted to decide. Ah well, mine is not to reason why, she finally decided.  
"I'd be delighted to give you the benefit of my none too expert opinion." Helen joked. Karen grinned down the phone. That humour was what she wanted to hear right now.

Karen drove them both in her sports car round the winding streets, away from the dockland and by various circuitous directions, to a slightly less starkly urban setting with its jumble of smart new developments book ending the claustrophobic, tight packed Victorian working class cluster of terraced streets. Helen gave up wondering where they were going and let Karen do the navigating. She seemed sure of herself, in fact determined to arrive at their destination.

She had to admit that the flat that Karen had selected looked pretty good to her. It reminded her of a smaller scale version of the flat she had once shared with Sean. It was an older building, set a little back from the road with two large imposing windows standing sentinel on the street outside. That was probably the very point and an unconscious reason why she had chosen it. One glance at them showed that heavy sash windows were not the kind to be so easily jemmied open by a screwdriver though she wondered if that was in Karen's conscious or unconscious thoughts.

Karen rapped smartly on the door which swung silently on its hinges and let a middle aged man come into view.  
"Glad you could make it. So you want to have another look around"  
"I've brought a friend round with me to help make up my mind." The man was obviously the landlord and he gestured to them to pass through into the front living room. The room was imposing with a high ceiling and a rich carpet. It looked somewhat sparsely furnished and the feel of it wasn't entirely welcoming.  
"It feels a bit empty and bare," Karen said doubtfully to herself.  
"That's what an unlet flat is like, Karen. Picture all your belongings in it and you can soon make it feel like home. You need a bit of imagination"  
Helen was enthusiastic and joking straightaway as, after all, it wasn't her decision and this mentally freed her up. "Do you get many problems with the neighbours"  
What Karen was really getting at, thought Helen, was is the area safe and, in particular, was there a risk from burglars.  
"I haven't heard any of the previous tenants complain. If they had, I'd be the first to hear. It's a quiet place where everybody keeps themselves to themselves. It's off the beaten track for late night clubbers or Saturday night drunks. There's a newsagent and an Indian shop open all hours who have been here for years, no trouble." "What about the next door neighbours?" Karen asked, of the other half of the house which was joined together and which shared the steps up to the flat.  
"They're professionals." The man replied. "They've been here years and they want somewhere nice and respectable. Besides, this house has thick walls in the days when they built houses to last, not the sort of flimsy, cut price plasterboard efforts they run up these days"  
Karen started to look at the possibilities of the house more closely, imagining in her mind's eye, her own furniture in new surroundings, working from past experience. She walked slowly to the window, noting the secure lock on the bottom of the sash window and that it would take gelignite to shift it. She had always had fairly modern tastes in her surroundings and it bothered her if what she took with her could be grafted into this much more traditional style of building. She didn't much care for traditional styles any more than she did in the way that she worked and that had been her unconscious sticking point so that she needed a second opinion. Helen's obvious enthusiasm for the flat was starting to whittle away at these reservations.  
"Let's look at the rest of the flat," Karen replied non committally.  
They went out by the hallway which really did seem to symmetrically anchor the flat together. Helen strode enthusiastically after the landlord while Karen paced her steps a little behind her. The bedroom opened out to a little garden at the back, which was charming, and, to Karen's eye, conveniently low maintenance.  
"Fancy getting green fingers?" joked Helen.  
"Well, it looks very private and nice to sit out in at the weekend. If I have any botanical problems, I'm sure Nikki would be only too happy to help. After all, she works for me," came Karen's droll reply.  
"At a price"  
Karen's eye started to check the position of sockets, storage space, the look of her own bed in the middle of the room and noticing that the colour of the walls was pleasing. This flat was starting to look like a white canvas onto which she could paint her own ideas of home. When they went into the kitchen, Karen was much more active, poring over every part of it, a place where some of her life would be spent and it started to meet her approval.

"You look like the lady of the manor surveying her domains," teased Helen.  
"Hardly manor," commented Karen dryly." Just somewhere nice and comfortable to live the part of my life that the prison service doesn't own." "Exactly why did the last tenant leave?" Karen asked the final question to which she got a prompt reply.  
"He'd lived here for a few years and, when he retired, moved to a villa in Spain. He was dead reliable, the ideal tenant"  
To Karen, the last piece of the jigsaw had finally fallen into place. This flat would be as easy to travel to work as what she now considered as her old flat. Visions of time off, removal vans and packing everything into boxes came into her mind. "I could do with a drink"  
"There's the leftovers in a bottle and a glass on the windowsill." offered the landlord, helpfully. Karen strode over to the window and on the wide sill behind the curtain was a shapely cut glass goblet and enough of an expensive wine for just one person, herself. "What about me?" teased Helen who was ready for a drink at any time.  
"You're not the one making a life or death decision, Helen." Smirked Karen at the other woman's less than convincing crestfallen look. Karen drained the glass in one gulp. The final decision was made.  
"All right, I'll go for it. Where do I sign the contract"  
It was just this sort of moment of history that had prompted Karen Betts, a disillusioned nurse who was sick and tired of too many patients dying on her, to seek a new career, and new horizons, and become a basic grade prison officer so many years ago. 


	56. Chapter 56

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Fifty-Six

On the Saturday evening, George went over to see Jo uninvited. But then neither she nor John ever needed an invitation. Jo was a little surprised to see her, and George seemed unable to find the right words to explain why she was there. Jo could see that something was clearly eating away at George, but she made no comment, knowing that George had to be allowed to raise whatever it was in her own time. Jo had been out most of the day, visiting friends, having lunch with Yvonne, where they barely mentioned Barbara's case, and generally catching up with people with whom she hadn't spent any time for far too long. She had also managed to fit in a supermarket shop on the way home. Spending an evening in with George, therefore, seemed like the perfect end to a perfect day. But George was miserable, clearly bitterly upset about something. But Jo had no idea what. Unless this was about last Tuesday, the night of John's birthday. Jo had been entirely aware that George had faked her orgasm, and she thought it very likely that John had as well. Jo had put some music on, a Tori Amos CD that she'd borrowed from George some time ago. 

"I can't seem to find my way out of your hunting ground." 

As Jo glanced over at George on hearing these words, she saw that George had silent tears running down her cheeks. "I wish you could talk to me," Jo said softly, taking George's hand in hers, wanting to comfort but not to crowd. "I wish I could too," George said miserably. "What makes you think you can't?" Jo asked her gently. George opened her mouth to reply, but being unable to think of any suitable response, she closed it again. "I might not understand," Jo tried to persuade her, "but I will listen." George looked utterly terrified on hearing Jo's suggestion, and her assertion of, "No, you can't," also bore evidence of her fear. "Why can't I?" Jo asked fondly. "Jo, please, I really can't discuss this, not even with you." "All right," Jo said resignedly. "But I am here any time you change your mind." 

They cuddled on the sofa for the rest of the evening, barely speaking, though not needing to. They found it inexplicably easy to be in one another's company, without constantly feeling the need to break the surface tranquillity of their silent thoughts. When they eventually went up to bed at around eleven-thirty, George said, "Are you sure you don't mind me staying?" "Of course not," Jo replied with a fond smile, wondering whether or not George might be persuaded to talk in the warmth and darkness of their bed. 

"Jo, do you mind if we don't... I mean..." "George," Jo said with a reassuring smile. "I'm not expecting anything of you just because you're here." "That's all right then," George said sounding thoroughly relieved. After pulling a thin, cotton nightie over her head, Jo thoughtfully handed one to George. She had looked so small, so unsure of herself when she'd asked Jo this question, and it made Jo's heart ache at her far too evident distress. When they were lying in Jo's soft, warm bed, George sought out Jo's comforting embrace as almost a haven, a refuge from her shattered thoughts. Jo held her for a long, long time, neither of them falling asleep, simply playing with a few strands of George's hair, trying to get her to relax. "I think you're fretting about last Tuesday," Jo eventually said into the silence. George's whole body stiffened. "He told you then," She replied almost resignedly, thinking that she would quite likely kill John when she saw him. "No, he didn't," Jo slightly admonished her. "I'm not entirely inept at picking up on feelings, George." "No, I know you're not," George said bleakly. "But I didn't want you to know." "That was obvious," Jo said matter-of-factly. "Why did you do it?" "Jo, John's birthday was supposed to be special, not just for him, but for all of us. I knew you'd enjoyed it, as I knew he was, and the last thing I wanted was for anything to spoil it. But then I suppose faking it isn't something you've ever had to do, is it," She added almost bitterly. "No, it isn't," Jo insisted vehemently. "Because I wouldn't ever give anyone the satisfaction of thinking they'd given me pleasure when they clearly hadn't." George's lips twitched upwards into half a smile. "And I certainly don't want you to fake an orgasm with me, not ever. If it really isn't what you want, you should say so, not put up with it because it makes either John or me feel better." "Not something you've ever thought you'd hear, is it," George said miserably, "that Georgia Channing has gone right off sex." "It happens," Jo said matter-of-factly. "To all of us. Wasn't that what you said to John only a couple of months ago?" "That's different," George said dismissively. "Don't be ridiculous," Jo told her fondly. "You'll get over it, just as John did, and the more you fret about it, the worse it will become." As they cuddled even closer to drift towards sleep, George wondered where half of herself had gone in these last few weeks. She felt cut asunder from her fully-fledged soul, as though the part of her that was capable of feeling happiness had been parted from her forever. In the kitchen, the light on the answering machine flickered, something Jo had completely failed to notice. 

On the Sunday morning, Jo felt well rested and peaceful. As she went to make them both a cup of tea, she saw a coat and a pair of discarded shoes in the hall that she ought to have recognised as not having been there the night before. But in her sleepy, slightly befuddled state, she dismissed this as completely normal. But when she entered the kitchen, she found her eldest son Tom, sitting at the table eating a bowl of cornflakes. "What are you doing here?" Jo asked in astonishment. "Good morning to you too, Mum," He said with a slightly pained grin in her direction. "I didn't know you were coming home," Jo said, moving to fill the kettle. "A little thing called an answering machine?" Tom suggested, gesturing at the flickering unit in the corner of the kitchen worktop. Staring at it blearily, Jo realised that she hadn't checked its contents the night before. "A load of us got invited to a Christmas party down here, so I thought I'd save myself the hotel bill." 

Having heard voices, George dragged herself out of bed to see who it was. When she appeared in the kitchen, Tom stared at her, a spoon of cornflakes half way to his mouth. George looked sleepy, tousled, and thoroughly adorable in Jo's eyes, but she would have preferred to keep this particular part of her life from her sons. "Wow," He said in awe. "And who was it who said that one always knows what one's mother gets up to on the quiet." Blushing furiously, Jo said, "George, this is my eldest son Tom, who neglected to let me know that he would be staying here after a party last night." "Mum, it isn't my fault that you don't listen to your answer phone," Tom insisted, returning to his cornflakes after giving George the visual once over. "Tom, this is George Channing..." "...Your new girlfriend," Tom finished for her. "Something like that," Jo admitted sheepishly. Tom looked thoughtful. "George Channing," He said, the name clearly having sparked off some memory. "But didn't you always use to..." "...Hate my guts," George finished for him. "Yes, she did. Funny how things change." "Oh, well," Tom said as he rose to put his bowl in the dishwasher. "As long as you're happy, Mum." "Thank you," Jo said, giving him a soft smile, this brief word of approval meaning so much to her. "Hey, does this mean that you've finally given the judge the elbow?" Tom asked, clearly hoping this to be the case. "It's complicated," Jo told him evasively. "Mum," Tom said smiling broadly. "Even I know not to run two people at the same time." "And why doesn't that surprise me?" "Yeah, yeah, okay," Tom replied with a shrug. "Just one thing though, Mum, I wouldn't tell Mark about this. He's not likely to be so open-minded about it." "I had absolutely no intention of mentioning this to your brother," Jo told him, entirely agreeing with his assessment of his brother's probable attitude. "I've had quite enough arguments with Mark to last me a lifetime." As Tom walked towards the kitchen door, he stopped next to George. "You know something, there's one very distinct bonus about you being here this morning," He told her with a conspiratorial smile. "It's prevented my mother from giving me the usual lecture about treating this house like a hotel." "I could soon start," Jo warned him as he departed and went back to his room. When there was silence in the kitchen once more, George said, "Well, that was a little unexpected." "Yes," Jo agreed dryly. "He's a credit to you, Jo," George told her sincerely. "I wouldn't have expected any offspring to be quite so accommodating." 


	57. Chapter 57

Part Fifty-Seven

"I've nearly finished my Christmas shopping." Declared Bodybag proudly. "Only a present for Constance's oldest child and I'm done"  
"Oh yeah." Gina yawned in extreme disinterest. "It's that time of the year, I suppose. Anytime now, there'll be the new bloody God squad Cliff Richard single pissing the hell out of me. I bet you he's bought all his Christmas presents and his bloody "Mistletoe and Wine', god help us"  
It was a typical morning get together in the PO's room when idle conversation turned this way and that before Nikki was due to appear. "I can't understand you, Gina, sneering at Cliff Richard. He sets such a good example, he's so clean living and so handsome, just like my Bobby Darin." protested Bodybag vigorously. Her tone of voice melted briefly into a girlish simper, revealing her as a True Believer before continuing to stoutly defend the traditions she was brought up to believe.  
"Christmas is the time of goodwill to all men, watching the Queen's speech, remembering that we're British and"  
"….opening your presents, getting pissed down the local pub, swearing at the usual crap there is on the box"  
"Anyone would think you didn't like Christmas, Gina." intervened Dominic to a general laugh. "The day's fine if I fix it right. Trouble is I've got to now start mooching round the shops and join all the other Muppets"  
A chorus of sympathy from the other prison officers revealed that, not only did they commiserate with Gina with the ordeal that was facing her but that they were in the same state of unpreparedness. It was at this point that Nikki strolled in, smiling at the snatch of conversation that she overheard and she promptly got roped into the conversation.  
"Hey, Nikki, what do you think of all this Christmas bollocks and present buying rip-off"  
"Well, Gina, my situation is simpler than others round here. My family has disowned me long ago and Helen's father is one of those fire and brimstone Bible bashers so naturally he doesn't exactly approve of me or my living with Helen. I like buying presents for those who are close friends of mine and receiving in return but I'm always so bloody late starting"  
"I bet Helen would be the organized one," ventured Dominic. "Got it in one." Agreed Nikki with a nod in his direction. "She runs things like a military campaign. Up till this year, I've always had a failsafe excuse for being scatty and disorganized as I used to work ridiculously long hours in the club in the run up to Christmas. Now that excuse has been blown right out of the water"  
"Still, you'll have more time with Helen this year." Selena offered, helpfully.  
"I will indeed." Nikki said slowly. The trouble was that, in the past, everyone else's desire to go out and party meant that the demands on the club were insatiable and bore heavier than normal on Nikki, Trisha and the overworked barmaids. While Helen went out of her way to be especially considerate and supportive of her, her pride didn't really like being cosseted in this way. Hopefully, that sort of pressure would be off her." I'm looking forward to that. Anyway, time for the meeting, if you please………."

Sylvia was in a quandary as the discussion faded into the background. She had leapt at the prospect of being a witness for the prosecution to see that Mills woman behind bars. The woman was as guilty as sin and anyone with eyes in their head could see it a mile away, anyone but her one time accomplice, that the Home Office in a fit of madness made wing governor. It had galled her enough that some lily livered wet liberal judges had conspired to let her sneak her way out of the prison where she should have been banged up for life. Then again, she had Madam ruling the roost and depriving her of the support that she and all the die-hard old stagers were entitled to. It had been so easy at one time but so many of the old school had fallen by the wayside. The writing was on the wall when Stubberfield was framed for Dockley and Blood's escape. What really had made her sit up and take notice was Jim Fenner's tragic death. Even after all this time, she missed his reassuring tones, shared points of view and ability to fix any problems. What really shook her confidence was Di Barker getting the sack. She had lost her main confidant and she really missed her. On the one hand, she burned with the desire to get back at the scheming women who had wrecked the prison service and made it the kindergarten that it now was. On the other hand, the trouble was that her chief enemies were far too dangerous and she didn't want to risk losing her pension, which was still far too many years out of reach. It was then that the opportunity presented itself when she agreed to be prosecution witness against Hunt who was still within her power. That would get back at Wade and settle a double score, to see her pal permanently behind bars. To her way of thinking, that was a form of safe retribution. What she hadn't bargained for was that the barrister would want to interview her so far in advance of the trial. She hadn't been prepared for it. The wretched appointment date meant that she would have to lay on the charm to whoever she could get to swap shifts with. She considered who of the other prison officers who would be amenable to swapping shifts and was disturbed to face the possibility that she might not be everyone's favourite prison officer. Eventually after much heart searching, she settled on the most amenable prison officer of the lot, someone who she had known the longest, Dominic McAllister.

"Dominic," she called after him as the prison officers started to file out of the room. She attached her most ingratiating smile to her face and her most hopefully honeyed tone of voice. "I wonder if you would be able to do me a favour. I'd do the same for you in return some time. It's terribly important and something that has only blown up at the last minute"  
"Go on, what is it?" Dominic asked without enthusiasm. Unknown to her, Nikki's sharp ears had picked up the train of conversation. She had had many years of keeping a sharp eye on what was going on in her noisy club that made her more acute to far away conversations than Bodybag had expected. She studiously stood where she was and examined the checklist handed to her at her leisure.  
"I would be so grateful if you could cover my shift this afternoon, Dominic. I've got a last minute pressing engagement"  
Dominic's mind started to cut his way through the waffle as he smelled a rat. He was naturally obliging but he drew the line at helping Sylvia out, after she had ostentatiously ignored him for weeks.  
"Last minute, as in, you've suddenly had this dropped on you or last minute as in, I'd forgotten all about it until I suddenly remembered it this morning. I need a better reason than that, Sylv"  
"It's terribly important, Dominic. Of course, I would love to change the engagement but it's not possible. Come on, Dominic, just between friends." "Look here, Sylv, I'm not willing to put myself out, especially when I'm tired and was looking to put my feet up and having a night in. You're only making it more difficult for yourself as you're keeping schtum about something and I don't like that." Dominic's voice became harder edged on the matter as clearly Sylvia was clearly up to something. "Oh come on, Dominic. I'd swap with you any time in future." Bodybag pleaded with a note of desperation in her voice and barely concealed anger "Sylv, I'm not having any of this. I'm not changing shifts with you off my own bat. You put the whole thing in Nikki's hands and let her decide if your rota gets swapped and if so, who with"  
"Quite right, Dominic." Nikki's voice chimed in from behind both of them making them jump. "There's definitely something you're not saying. Come on, spit it out." Nikki's eyes penetrated deep into Bodybag, unsettling her.  
"Err, Miss Wade, it's something private and confidential. It's something I don't want to talk about with every Tom, Dick and Harry eavesdropping." Bodybag stammered trying to vaguely buy time.  
"You're quite right, Sylvia. Both of you, to my room and fast"  
Dominic and Bodybag trotted after Nikki's rapids strides till they reached her room.  
"And now, Sylvia. An explanation if you please"  
Bodybag immediately fumbled inside her bag and drew out a letter with the stamp of a solicitor's name and address. Nikki glanced at the date on the letter and, as she had expected, it was two weeks ago. The contents of the letter caused her face to harden. It was to ask her to see a solicitor to make a statement in the 'Crown versus Mills' trial. Nikki knew enough to conclude that she was a witness for the prosecution. She had to admit that everything else about the letter was authentic and it explained Bodybag's desperation.  
"There's nothing in the rules and regulations to stop me giving evidence against your friend, is there"  
"No, Sylvia. As you say, I can't stop you giving evidence against Barbara Mills or any other inmate in Larkhall……." Dominic was impressed by how Nikki's visible burst of anger was so quickly bottled up and how even her voice was. If she knew anything about her, he suspected that she felt duty bound to avoid personal favouritism.  
"……..in fact, I'll take responsibility for the duty roster to ensure that you have time off to attend this meeting and it goes without saying that this will apply for any further meetings"  
"…….why thank you, Miss Wade….." Bodybag was about to say in ingratiating tones. Anything to ensure she got her time off, no matter how demeaning.  
"……..but I'm not pleased that you've left it to the last minute"  
"……I'm ever so sorry, Miss Wade, it must have slipped my mind"  
"…….but there's a much more important matter than this, Sylvia. I'm not happy with the idea of you staying on G Wing while you're giving evidence against Barbara Mills. I'm going to have words with Karen about temporarily transferring you to another wing"  
"That's blackmail, Miss." Bodybag snapped, her mask of obsequiousness dropping in a flash.  
"Sylvia, just use your brains for once in your life."Nikki urged with supreme patience. "I cannot be sure that word won't get out about your role in the trial, not by me, I assure you. You know how popular Barbara is on the wing while you aren't exactly the best-loved prison officer on G Wing. I don't want anything kicking off over this trial. It won't help you, or the prison officers, or Barbara or the other prisoners and it certainly won't help me. There's another matter I need to think of. You are prickly, lazy, always moaning about every little thing. If I'd set out to transfer you at the first possible opportunity, I'd only be landing the problems you always cause onto another wing governor and it would be no help to Karen. I might as well be the one to line manage you because I know you of old and at least, you know the other prison officers even if you don't see eye to eye to them. What you've done is to put the tin lid on this matter. I give you my word that, as soon as Barbara's trial is over, whichever way it goes, you have a right to get a transfer back to this wing. Only thing you'd need to do is positively tell Karen via your new wing governor that you want the transfer back. I can't say fairer than this"  
"Humph." Bodybag snorted. "I suppose I should be grateful"  
"You should but you won't be. Anyway, I need some space so leave it to me to organize your relief and I'll let you know which wing you're moving to and when."

Dominic gestured to Bodybag to start sidling out. For once, she took the hint.

"Of course, Sylvia has to be moved." Karen said decisively before adding slightly sternly, noticing Nikki's look of relief. "Don't look too pleased with yourself"  
"Of course not, Karen." Nikki replied meekly, straightening out her features.  
"I felt the same when Di Barker was moved off my wing during Lauren's trial. I've just got to find a wing governor that has your patience and intelligence in handling her. That isn't going to be easy as her reputation is well known"  
Karen spoke in such a weary tone of voice that Nikki was worried about her. She was going to say something to that effect but Karen interrupted her.  
"Leave me to it, Nikki. It will give me something so that I can keep my mind occupied with. You've almost done me a favour"  
Nikki made a quiet exit. The room was dimly lit and Karen clearly wanted to be on her own. She wasn't sure if that was good for her but only Karen could decide that one.

Unusually, Gina made rapid strides out of the gates of Larkhall in the direction of the shops. She wanted to break the ice gently by at least having as gentle a stroll round them as the increasing crowds of shoppers permitted. She really wasn't looking forward to it as the fiery temperament which she kept bottled up at work, was apt to boil over She gained the High Street and firstly, the traditional Marks and Sparks came into view but this was somewhere she really wanted to pass by. Further ahead, she could pick out Boots and their gift counter was more promising. Just before it was the deeply unpromising sight of the tacky yellow and green logo of the local Jobcentre. She scowled at the sight of it. She had remembered it years ago when she had been there for a job. It had found her the first barmaid job. That would have been fine except that it was so lousy that only after she'd jacked it in that she'd found out that it had a high turnover of staff. Nikki had told her a few stories about barmaids that she had hired who'd worked there. The only difference was that some colour-blind moron had given it some kind of makeover. She was just on the point of speeding up to walk past it when she became aware of a woman who was standing disconsolately outside, virtually standing on the kerbstone. Gina noted dispassionately that she was obviously unemployed, nowhere to go and looking down at heel. Couldn't be arsed to go in the bloody Jobcentre and get a job, quite obviously. The penny only dropped when she could see her more clearly in profile, short, scruffily dressed and with hair tousled and not by the wind. The line of her straight nose and her down turned mouth were unmistakeable. Surely it can't be Di Barker?

Gina had just enough presence of mind to move out of the way of the increasing stream of passers by, eager to shop till they drop even on their lunch breaks. She leaned against the corner of the front entrance of Marks and Spencers, her eyes transfixed on Di. She wondered if she was even aware of her presence. It only took her two seconds to conclude that Di would never acknowledge the presence of one of her bitterest enemies who had 'put one over her' again by simply having a job when she hadn't. It was typical of the twisted woman to think that way. She obviously hasn't two pennies to rub together, nowhere to go and no company to keep. At least all of us at work have the means to go Christmas shopping, whether happy or reluctant. Di Barker hasn't got that choice. Still, she wasn't going to waste any sympathy on her as she had her chances and blew the lot. There were so many different choices she could have made in her life but she had that dogged determination to mess up her own life and anyone else she could ensnare for her own purposes.

When she thought about, a quick look round Marks and Spencers didn't sound such a bad idea. She could leave that cow to fester outside and slide off back to work while the coast was clear. All the same, she knew that in her mind, Di Barker would be forever rooted to that piece of tarmac and curbstone, right outside the local Jobcentre. 


	58. Chapter 58

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Fifty-Eight

On the Monday lunchtime, Karen decided to drive over to tell George about Sylvia's involvement in Barbara's case. Karen was still incensed by this turn of events, almost unable to believe that the need for vengeance had taken over Sylvia so completely. But then Sylvia's capacity for vindictiveness always had outweighed that of any other prison officer, except perhaps Di Barker. Why was it, Karen thought meditatively to herself as she drove, that some people's innate desire for retribution could lead them to do the most stupid and drastic of things? Just like Sylvia's desire to be part of Barbara's trial and possible return to custody, for example. So, here Karen was, on her way to George's office, with a fairly thick folder on the passenger seat beside her. 

George was intrigued. All Karen had said when she'd phoned, was that she had some important news concerning Barbara's case, and that she thought George ought to be made aware of it without delay. George had replied by asking her to come in time for lunch, something she usually didn't bother to eat. She couldn't begin to wonder what it was that Karen had to tell her, which was why George hadn't yet contacted Jo. 

When Karen arrived, they both thought that the other looked tired, fraught, and wearing away at the edges. "You look like I feel," Karen said when she entered George's office. "It's nothing that won't pass," George said dismissively. Laying a brief hand on George's shoulder, Karen said, "Any time you want it, I am capable of listening. I can't always guarantee to offer you an intelligent solution, but I can try." "Thank you," George said sincerely, thinking that she was really very lucky where Karen was concerned. She had hurt Karen at the worst possible time, yet here Karen was, still prepared to work with her, and still prepared to be there for her if necessary. "Now then," George said, wanting to get back to the matter in hand. "What's this piece of dynamite you have for me?" "I have been made aware, this morning no less, that Sylvia Hollamby will be standing for the prosecution in Barbara's trial." "Is there a remotely good reason for it?" George asked, as they moved over to the coffee table that George's secretary had laid with lunch. "Barbara was the indirect cause of Sylvia's first ever written warning, and I think she wants a little payback." "You know something, the first time I saw her, on that imposed visit to Larkhall, I could tell that she was a pretty loathsome waste of space." "I couldn't have put that better myself," Karen said with a smile. "So, I've done something for you that should it come out, will get me sacked." "It won't," George promised her. "This," Karen said with a momentous pause. "Is a copy of Sylvia's personnel file, detailing every instance in which her reliability as an officer has been questioned, and believe me, they are many and varied." "You darling," George said, greedily taking the file up from where Karen had laid it on the desk. Alternating between sips of coffee and bites of sandwich, George began flipping through the file's contents. 

"Who's Carol Byatt?" George asked, catching sight of Sylvia's first recorded verbal warning. "Before my time," Karen said succinctly. "Ask Helen about that one." Making a note to call Helen later that afternoon, George moved through the file. "Aha," She said, clearly having found something that caught her interest. "Tessa Spall." "That's where I think all of this stems from," Karen replied. "When Tessa and Barbara were transferred to Larkhall at the same time, Sylvia mixed them up, with almost fatal consequences. This was primarily because Barbara was struggling with the officers, because she was claustrophobic, and had been shut up in a prison van for god knows how long." George winced in sympathy for Barbara's plight. "Tessa on the other hand, was quiet, polite, everything you would expect Barbara to be. It was an easy assumption to make, but Sylvia should have checked. Dominic was appalled when he found out that the woman being held under sedation down the block was Barbara, not Tessa as everyone thought. Sylvia's lapse in the usual bureaucracy of admission, led to both myself and then Fenner being held hostage by a very angry woman who had both an axe to grind and a syringe of her own HIV-infected blood. She knew me, because I'd worked at her previous prison, and she was furious with me because I had moved someone out of her reach to ensure her safety. I gave Sylvia a written warning as her immediate superior of Wing Governor, because her failure to actually check that the prisoner was who she said she was, led to a serious lapse in security." "As this is documented evidence as opposed to being mere speculation," George said thoughtfully. "We can almost certainly use it." 

Flipping further through the bulky folder, George stopped in astonishment. "You demoted her? What on earth for?" "You might ask Denny about that little fiasco," Karen said with the barest hint of a smile. "She and Shaz Wiley, in one of their more childish moments, duped Sylvia inside their cell, and unceremoniously banged the door on her, with her on the inside, and them on the outside. This was after lock up, you understand, so Sylvia had no choice but to hand over her keys, if she didn't want her fellow officers to know how she'd let her guard down. With the keys in their hands, Shaz and Denny skipped off to the servery, and left Sylvia furiously champing at the bit till they came back and let her out." At this point, George burst into a helpless fit of giggles. "I'm supposed to take an entirely different view," Karen said dryly. "It only came out later because Renee Williams died the next day, which began a full scale murder enquiry. Fenner of all people got the truth out of Sylvia about what happened that night, and thankfully persuaded her to tell me. So, I forced her to hand over her pips, and made her endure the worst humiliation you can ever give anyone like Sylvia, that of being demoted." "But I see that she was reinstated, not long after being demoted," George replied, glancing down at the file. "Simon Stubberfield, one of my previous bosses, did a deal with her. A load of them went on strike after Shell stabbed Fenner and was put back on the wing, and with Sylvia being the union rep, it was her whom Simon had to negotiate with. So, he gave her back her pips, and she called off the strike. Disgustingly neat and tidy when you think about it." 

"Is there any other major incident I should know about?" George asked, seeing this as by far the quicker option. "It wasn't a major incident in that no prisoner or officer's life was put at risk, but it is an incident that will no doubt hit home with the jury." "It sounds as though you've learnt something from me after all," George said with a smile. "Racial discrimination and intolerance, reported to me by one of Sylvia's fellow officers, Paula Miles." "Ah, I see," George said succinctly. "And you're absolutely right, anything remotely PC-related is almost better than evidence itself these days, but you didn't hear me say that." "Jinan Hamad wasn't in Larkhall for long, because her case was reassessed. She was another one who went in for rooftop protests. That's becoming something of a habit with G wing's women. Sylvia made several racially motivated comments to her both on admission and whilst she was an inmate on the wing. As you will see, I sent her on a cultural awareness course, though how much good it did is anyone's guess." "Oh, well, it's all good jury fodder," George said matter-of-factly. "They'll love it, or rather they'll love us for raising it, which is after all the point of the exercise. Now, I don't need to declare how I laid my hands on this, because unlike medical records, personnel files aren't classified information, though at times I think they should be, so you've no need to worry. Your job is perfectly safe as long as you don't obtain a conscience between now and the trial." "A conscience where Sylvia's concerned, you must be joking," Karen said bitterly. "She's been a thorn in my side since my very first day at Larkhall. Even then I could see how spiteful she was towards the inmates. So, if Sylvia wants to start a war over the issue of Barbara, then she'll get one right back, just not in the way she might be expecting it." 

After putting all the documents back into the file, George laid it on her desk and regarded Karen thoughtfully. "How are you, really?" She asked into the resulting silence. "I'm surviving," Karen said quietly. "And how much are you working?" "Probably too much," Karen admitted freely. "But at the moment, that's something I need to do." "Hence your assistance with Barbara's case." "There's no way Barbara killed Henry," Karen said with feeling. "But I can't be seen to be leaning either way, you know that. As her prison governor, I have to remain entirely impartial, which is precisely why you've received that file off the record. But yes, you're right, it probably is giving me just something else to focus on." "Let me see your arms," George said, her voice both firm and gentle. Opening her mouth to protest, Karen simply decided that it would be quicker just to do as George asked. Unbuttoning both her cuffs, she rolled up her sleeves and bared her forearms for George's inspection. The right was still perfectly smooth, the unmarred skin no longer the twin to that on the left. This arm, though unadorned with any new cuts, was scattered with old, healed scars, the like of which George didn't think she had ever seen. Putting out a finger, she ran it over the longest scar visible, the ridged tissue in stark contrast to the smooth perfection of the other arm. "When did you last cut?" She asked, as Karen refastened her sleeves. "Not since the night Shell appeared in my bedroom. It sounds so ridiculous, but the last thing she ever said to me, was to stop cutting, because I didn't want to end up like her." George recoiled in shock. "But you wouldn't, you couldn't," She protested vehemently. "Not in that way," Karen said with a fond smile. "I won't ever end up behind bars if I can help it. What Shell meant, was that I didn't want to end up like her, doing everything possible to harm myself in an effort to escape from everything going on in my head. Shell used to routinely burn herself with cigarette ends, and I think she wanted to make sure that I didn't get that bad. I'm not sure why I haven't cut since then, but it almost seems disrespectful, if that doesn't make me sound completely barking." "No, it actually makes some kind of sense," George replied thoughtfully. "You've always had some sort of affinity with Shell Dockley. She was never just another inmate to you, no matter how much you don't want to admit it. You had a connection with her as a result of Fenner, because he did precisely the same thing to her as he did to you, though under different circumstances. Another similarity you have shared with her is that of being a mother. Shell Dockley might have been termed psychopathic in her time, but you have more than once asserted to me that she loved her children, just as you did," She added a little more softly. "So, if respecting a dead woman's memory is what's keeping you from cutting yourself, I'm hardly going to criticise you for that." "I can't promise that I won't ever do it again," Karen told her, wanting to get this point absolutely clear. "I know you can't," George replied without argument. "Because I can't promise that I will never again starve myself into dangerous territory. But if this appears to be Dockley's little legacy, so be it." 

Later that afternoon, long after Karen had left, George picked up the phone to call Helen. "This is a nice surprise," Helen said when George had been put through to her office. "You've just caught me having a coffee between patients." "Ah, well, this is really business rather than pleasure," George said with a smile. "What can you tell me about Carol Byatt?" There was a long, almost sonorous pause. "Well, there's a name I haven't heard for a while," Helen said meditatively. "What do you want to know about her?" "Why it was that you gave Sylvia Hollamby a verbal warning. There isn't much about it in her personnel file, and as I may be cross-examining her when she appears as a prosecution witness, I would dearly like to get my facts straight." "The vicious, old cow," Helen replied with feeling. "Does Nikki know about this?" "I assume so, as it was Karen who informed me. It all came out this morning, so you'll probably hear all the gory details when Nikki gets home tonight." "And Karen lifted you a copy of Sylvia's personnel file?" Helen asked with a knowing laugh. "That is classified information," George said with a smile in her voice. "Yeah, about as classified as when I lifted a copy of Nikki's file to start illicit work on her appeal," Helen filled in. "I'm glad to see others following in my footsteps. Anyway, you wanted to know about Carol. She was twenty-two, and serving time for assaulting a police officer whilst being arrested for prostitution. She was pregnant, though to give the officers their due, she hadn't informed anyone of this. She might not have known herself. It was very soon after I became Wing Governor, something that hadn't gone down well with either Fenner or Sylvia, because they both highly disapproved of some university graduate who'd been fast tracked through the system. They thought that only prison officers who had worked their way up from the bottom were worth their weight in gold. One night, when Sylvia was doing lock up on the 3s, Carol told her that she wanted to see the doctor. Sylvia told her to wait till the morning, though probably not in so many words, and Carol told Sylvia that she was bleeding. Assuming this was simply a time of the month issue, Sylvia left her to it, even though Carol kept calling out that she needed the doctor. Whether she knew what was really happening to her or not, I don't know. Anyway, when Dominic went to unlock first thing the next morning, he found Carol unconscious, and the cell looking like an abattoir." "Good god," George said in quiet horror. "I went to see Carol in hospital, where she told me what had happened the night before, and when I confronted Sylvia about it, she protested that Carol hadn't told her anything of the sort. I gave her a verbal warning because as a result of her clear negligence in ensuring that the inmate was safe and well, said inmate nearly bled to death in her cell, not something the home office would want to have made public." "That's four times so far when Sylvia Hollamby's reliability has been called into severe question," George thought out loud. "All incidents that the jury will look at most unfavourably. I haven't had chance to go through the rest of the file yet, and when I do, I'm sure I'll find even more. Whatever prompted Brian Cantwell to use her as a witness, I couldn't possibly imagine, but then I don't suppose he knows about any of this. If he did, he wouldn't touch her with a barge pole." 


	59. Chapter 59

Part Fifty-Nine

Cassie was painfully conscious that she had not got round to visiting Barbara who had been over two months in Larkhall by their reckoning. Soon after Barbara had been admitted, Roisin had gone with Yvonne to make arrangements for the funeral but time had flown by in their busy lives since then. At isolated moments when they were both hard at work the stray thought crossed their minds but time passed and they let time slip through their fingers yet again. It wasn't until school decided on an 'inset day' for teacher training coincided with Roisin's mother volunteering out of the blue to look after Niamh and Michael that that vague desire to see Barbara was crystallized into action. Fortunately, Michael would be plucked clean away from his circle of school friends so that he could safely ditch the awkward adolescent routine that betrayed his fear of losing his street credibility. Amazingly, Roisin's mother came at the crack of dawn and both children were surprisingly receptive to being up at such an early hour especially when they didn't have school to get up for. They both waved back as two hands waved out of the back window, slowly diminishing in size with Roisin's mother confident at the wheel.

They duly passed through the lodge where Ken did a 'double take' and belatedly recognized both of them, especially when they signed their names in the guest list. "I remember you both." He hailed them." Didn't you both pull our old governing governor out of that terrible fire in the library a few years back"  
"Believe it or not, that was us. Sometimes we wonder ourselves that we did it when we think about it." This was a first time in Roisin's experience that Cassie was so modest and unassuming. It did feel like another era and they were different people even though their house held the papers, which had granted them their free pardon, which made their present life possible. "You see that door over to the left. Go through there and you can see the sign to the visitor's room. There'll be someone to show you the way and help you out if you need it."

Cassie grinned at the remark. There was a distinct flavour of 'if you want to know the time, ask a policeman' about it all. When they were inmates here, there were some screws that they wouldn't have wanted to catch a cold off far less polite ask for assistance. To their surprise, it was Selena who was present to frisk the visitors before the door was opened up at the appointed time. She performed her duties in as correct, businesslike fashion and Cassie couldn't help noticing how young she looked. It must be creeping middle age that had prompted the thought, Cassie reflected ruefully, despite her refusal to admit such a possibility.  
"No Bodybag today? I'm sorry, I mean Sylvia Hollamby." Roisin casually asked Selena without thinking before amending her question in a prim and proper manner, which made Cassie smile.  
"She's been transferred off G Wing until Barbara Mills' trial." Selena said shortly.  
"Bet you're missing her already"  
Cassie's lighthearted joke got a response from Selena who permitted herself the luxury of a slight smile. She could not believe that she had a glorious holiday from her sulphurous muttering in the PO room. Sometimes. she could have sworn that she used to make homophobic remarks under her breath, sparked by Nikki's very tangible presence. It was a huge personal encouragement to have as a boss this mature and sensitive and very 'out gay' wing governor. "Not altogether, Cassie but, hey, life goes on."

The door opened and the crowd of visitors poured in. Sure enough, it was Dominic on duty in the visiting room and both he and Nikki greeted them with broad smile of welcome.  
"Our luck's in today, babe. No Di and no Bodybag. Couldn't be better"  
They threaded their way through the crowd and finally spotted Barbara, sitting at a table near the back of the hall. They both noticed that Barbara looked pale and drawn and her welcoming smile was a bit forced.  
"What's worrying you?" Cassie asked in her direct way after the introductions.  
"I've been told when the date is for the trial." Barbara confessed," Jo and George have been to see me and it's Monday February 6th 2006"  
"At least someone's got things moving and chance to get you out of this dump"  
"That's if the jury believe me. All this time, I've been trying not to think about the trial and now the date's come up, I'm not so sure I'll actually get out"  
Barbara's low depressed tones made a vivid contrast to Cassie's radiant positivism.  
"You might get that judge who was so kind to Lauren. Have faith"  
"I wish I did. I might get the sort of hanging judge who gave me three years inside for Peter's death and he might be especially severe on me for what he might see as a second offence"  
Roisin's heart went out to Barbara. She could not imagine that she could doubt her faith in God's protection but if she was talking in these terms, she must be seriously worried.  
"I heard that Bodybag's been booted off G wing until your trial comes up. That's got to be a good sign for the future"  
Barbara's face brightened at that. It was a huge relief not to see her scowling face around the wing and the residual gloom of the building had instantly lightened. All the other prisoners had been in more of a laughing and joking mood and the prison officers had noticeably mellowed. She had got to think that the intangible atmosphere that periodically got prisoners down from time to time might be the product of the accumulated bad vibrations, caused by all the generations of Fenners and Bodybags. Evil begets evil, as a well-remembered phrase told her and she realized that it might take a more long lasting, intangible form.

Nikki strolled round the room talking to various groups of prisoners and their visitors. She thought it was a good idea to 'show the flag' a bit from time to time as her low-key way of inspecting what was done in her name on G Wing. Her foreknowledge of the VO for Barbara coincided just nicely with this duty.

"Did I hear the news correctly that Di Barker has left the prison service?" Barbara asked Nikki as she passed. She had been really down in the dumps since she had heard about her trial date that everything from which she might draw emotional sustenance was blighted. She had heard the news correctly as it had inevitably gone round G Wing like lightning. She wanted someone else to convince her that it was real. "Neil gave her the boot for writing Karen's address on a back of a news cutting that Denny sent to Shell. Let's just say that Karen got a midnight visitor though nothing bad happened but that was no thanks to Di." Nikki said tersely. This was as much as she had cared to tell anyone, even her old friends, as it was a matter, which impinged on her job.  
"I wouldn't wish ill will on anyone but she's got more and more bitter and twisted and a public danger, especially to you, Nikki. It was the best thing for her to go." Came Barbara charitably delivered verdict while Cassie and Roisin grinned broadly in unmistakable delight. The taller woman shrugged her shoulders self deprecatingly at their response. She sensed Di Barker as an evil spider, hatching up plans in the corner and making Sylvia Hollamby even worse than she was. Nikki had survived all these months due to a thick skin and the ever present mantra that went round in her head that Di Barker hated so many other prison officers that there was only so much scheming she could direct at her. In that way she had not let that woman get to her. "Sounds as if you're in for a pretty comfortable time of it now Nikki"  
"Yeah,"grinned Nikki smugly back at Cassie. She was obviously on top of the world. "The other prison officers are fine and I've only got one prisoner who really needs watching." "Who've you got as witnesses for the trial?" Cassie pursued.  
"Well, Nikki's coming as a character reference for a start"  
"..so I'll have to be on my best behaviour." Slid in Nikki with her most misleadingly innocent expression on her face. "As if." Retorted Cassie. Wing governor or no wing governor, she knew that Nikki would be true to herself and could imagine Nikki giving as good as she gets to any of the pompous barristers she had ever seen in action. "…anyway, there's also a surgeon, an anaesthetist and a red hot American pathologist with legal qualifications"  
"Whew." Cassie gasped, her blue eyes opened wide." Why don't you wheel in Magnus Magnusson, Albert Einstein and…….." "Albert Einstein is dead, Cassie." Put in Roisin helpfully.  
"As if I didn't know. Just testing you, Roash"  
The other three women burst into laughter at Cassie's inimitable banter, which raised everyone's spirits. They weren't sure whether Cassie was bluffing or not but, either way, she responded with such style.  
"So long as you haven't told that to the kids"  
"As if I'd lead them up the garden path to look complete idiots in class. Anyway they're too smart to get conned"  
"Thomas Waugh has agreed to do a physical and psychological assessment of you Barbara," Nikki added quietly." He knows that he made a tit of himself when he gave evidence for the prosecution in Lauren Atkins' trial. I've got on with just fine since I've been here. If I've had any problem that I've taken to him, he's run with it. He's got strong principles and I can now see why Helen got on with him"  
The other three women pricked up their ears at Nikki's generosity to him. They knew the heartbreak Nikki had gone through when she was an inmate at Larkhall and she'd split up with Helen and Dr Thomas supplanted her in Helen's affections. That was a long time ago to Nikki and, since she had become wing governor, she had come to fully understand Dr Thomas's virtues as another professional. Her statement wasn't made out of any nobility or charity, it was merely giving credit where credit was due. "And I've got Jo and George to represent me." Barbara followed up, her confidence boosted by the support from the others around her.  
." I can see now that the brief I had when I was first in court just isn't in their league when we saw Jo in action. In your situation, you never feel that you have guarantees, Barbara. I've been there. " Added Nikki helpfully. She glanced at her watch and could see that there wasn't that much left of visiting time. Bang went her good intention of doing the rounds at visiting time.  
"I'm sorry as I've gotta go and mingle with the others."

There was a silence amongst the three women as they paused for reflection. The background chatter between the other prisoners and their visitors went unheard.

"How are your kids getting on?" Barbara asked politely.  
"Well, Michael is in danger of becoming a teenager though Niamh's not got there yet"  
"It will come, Cassie"  
"How about you, Barbara? What sort of teenager were you"  
"Well," thought Barbara as she searched her mind." The Christian upbringing I had extended out into my social life. I suppose I was very much protected or else the world was very innocent. It feels impossible to convey how straight laced everything was, everything in its order, everything secure. It was another world where you didn't ask any questions, not like today. Of course I learnt to question things when I was here before and it did me a lot of good. Prison's somewhere to shake your ideas up a bit so long as you don't make a profession of it"  
"We understand, Barbara." Roisin answered with all her heart. The drastic changes in her life had been very much helped along its way by prison though she was very much aware of the horrors of it all as well. 


	60. Chapter 60

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Sixty

As Helen waited for John to arrive for his last session before Christmas, she tried to plan out what they would discuss this time. This was always a pretty fruitless task, because what they would talk about always depended on how John was feeling, and what answers he would give to the occasional salient question. These were both things that from her point of view were entirely unpredictable. But one thing was clear in her mind. John had seemed fairly relaxed in the last session, as though he was becoming used to the situation, not a state of being that would probably lead to any major confessions. It was always in the unexpected, the unintended, the slips of the tongue and the words that rushed forth with no more planning than a river hurtles down a mountainside, that Helen was able to pierce his iron hard exterior. John was extremely adept at maintaining his outer facade, and the more relaxed he was, the more likely he was to be able to do this. But if she rattled him, got him either on the defensive or simply afraid of her probing, he would almost always give away some little titbit of information that she could use to tease away at his armour. She wasn't especially proud of this mode of attack, but it always guaranteed her a modicum of success with someone like John. 

When he was yet again sitting in the chair opposite her, she regarded him thoughtfully. "Last time you were here," She began carefully. "We were talking about the differences between the persona you hold in court, and the one you fulfil out of it. You said that you needed some time to think about that, which is perfectly understandable, and which is why we left the session where we did." "I did think about what you said," He told her tentatively. "And I am utterly loath to admit that you were right in your assessment of the situation." "I suppose there has to be a first time, Judge," She said with a smile, trying to put him at his ease. "It's not something I consciously think about, the difference between my in court and out of court personas, I merely behave in the manner I think befits the occasion. I have never stayed within recommended, conventional guidelines where my personal life is concerned, not since my days of protests and sit-ins at university." "I can just see you on a sit-in," Helen said with a smile. "It would entirely fit with your current striving for social and actual justice. The way you won't automatically fall in with the views of the rest of your brethren, the way you'll fight and fight to achieve what you think is right and proper, that part of you is something for the ordinary, mere mortal to admire." "Thank you," John said in sincere appreciation. "So, now that I've thoroughly flattered your ego," Helen said with the weight of an approaching storm. "I want you to take it apart. I would like you to give me your explanation of your usual behaviour with women." 

Needing to think about this very carefully, John sat perfectly still for a while, but then rose to his feet, beginning to pace the length of the room between the window and the door. "I am aware," He began eventually, "that some of my actions where women are concerned are thoroughly reprehensible." "What makes you say that?" Helen asked him quietly. "I have hurt Jo, and George, far more times than I could ever count. George to some extent managed to get used to it, but Jo never did. Every time I do it, it hurts her almost as much as if it were the first time it had happened. When I was married to George, she got into the habit of completely ignoring the fact that I was picking up other women on a regular basis. She knew I was doing it, but chose to act as though she didn't." "Why do you think that was?" Helen wanted to know, marvelling at the different reactions of two women to the same problem. "George initially thought that my straying was her fault," John said regretfully, standing now with his face to the window and his back to Helen. "She thought that I couldn't possibly still love her if I knew how she felt about Charlie, which also made her think that she didn't deserve my love. That was partly why she kept her distance from me." "So," Helen said meditatively, trying to put the fractured pieces together. "You began picking up other women, because George wouldn't sleep with you after Charlie was born?" Her voice was flat, clinical, utterly devoid of emotion, but John could feel the vibes of disapproval as though it was a struggle for her to suppress them. "Yes," He confirmed bitterly. "Sounds pretty unfeeling and pathetic, doesn't it." "I didn't say that, Judge." "You thought it though, didn't you," He replied a little cynically. "What I think is neither important nor relevant," Helen told him firmly. "Tell me, how did this situation resolve itself, if it did, that is?" "George began sleeping with me again, because she didn't want me to go away from her altogether, not that I ever would have done. Then, after I discovered what she was doing to herself and why, I tried so hard to show her that I still loved her, to tell her that I didn't think her the terrible mother she thought she was. But I never again quite managed to make her believe that she deserved to be loved, not while we were married, and I'm not even sure that she believes it now. However, in spite of my protestations that I loved her, I couldn't quite abandon the chase." "You'd become hooked, just like any other addict," Helen starkly spelt out for him. "Yes," He said, still with his back to her, and she could hear just how difficult it was for him to maintain control over his feelings. "Why did you keep doing it?" She asked. "Was it some form of escapism, or was it simply a need to fulfil what you weren't getting so often at home?" Turning on his heel to face her, John looked momentarily furious. "Do you have to discuss my complete lack of virtue as though I am some kind of loathsome individual who betrayed his wife just when she needed him most?" "Is that how you see yourself?" Helen asked him calmly, not remotely put off by his anger. This question seemed to deflate his ire, removing all the wind from his sails. "I don't know," He said very quietly. "Is that because you don't want to admit that you might be that man you've just described, or is that because you're really not sure?" "George didn't deserve what I did to her, on so many occasions," John said, moving back to sit in his chair. "She did her absolute best to care for Charlie, in spite of how she felt about her. That wasn't George's fault, just as it wasn't Charlie's." "It wasn't yours either, Judge," Helen told him gently. "You couldn't have predicted that George wouldn't love the child you'd given her." "Perhaps not," He replied dismissively. "But neither did she deserve to be betrayed time and time again, just because I thought she didn't love me." "You made that problem about you, when it wasn't really connected to you at all," Helen clarified. "Yes, I suppose I did. But isn't that the prerogative of men the world over?" He added a little morosely. "A few too many of you, yes, it does appear to be," Helen said with a wan smile. "Men sometimes have this way of assuming that everything is about them," She continued in a meditative voice that made him think she was looking inwards, not across the room at him. "They think that if a problem with a relationship doesn't concern them, then it's not important, when in actual fact, it can be the most important thing in the world." "Is that what happened with Nikki?" John asked gently, seeing that Helen had strayed into a memory of her own. But this seemed to bring her out of her introspection. "I'm sorry," She said, her eyes widening for a moment. "I shouldn't have said any of that." "It doesn't matter," John told her quietly, seeing that this was to Helen a severe professional blunder. "Back to you," Helen said decisively. "And you might be able to pluck this immediately out of the air, though it could of course take some time to work out. What was the worst thing you ever said to George during the time of your marriage?"

John stared at her, having been thrown a little off course by her sudden return to normality. But he didn't have to waver for long. He knew what the worst thing was that he'd ever said, and it wasn't something he'd ever forget. "It was the day George found out about Jo," He said into the silence. "She had come to court after picking Charlie up from school as a surprise. But when she pulled into the car park, she saw me kissing Jo on the front steps. I didn't know any of this until I got home. I didn't know it then, but Jo was the final straw for George, because according to her, we looked so right together. She told me years afterwards that it had finally hit home that she could no longer make me happy, and that some other woman would be far better at it. I've seen George's displays of anger on many occasions, most of them in court, but nothing has ever come close to how she was that night. She was so furious with me to cover up the hurt, but that was something I refused to see. George worships her expensive possessions, so it astonished me when she purposefully smashed a Ming vase, not something she would ever do under normal circumstances. When she asked me why Jo, why that particular woman, I said something to her that I will regret for the rest of my life. I told George that I was in love with Jo, because she had a heart." There was a long, awful pause after these words were uttered, and Helen couldn't prevent the wince that made her suck in a sharp breath. "The awful thing was," John continued, "that she didn't disagree with me. Those words seemed to shatter any anger George had left. Neither of us slept very much that night because I think we knew that our marriage was finally, irretrievably over. She took Charlie to school the next day, but then turned up to see me during the court adjournment. I apologised for what I'd said to her the night before, because I really hadn't meant it to come out the way it had, but she dismissed it as though it had meant nothing to her. That was just another sign of how much it really had hurt her. George went away for a week, taking her car with her, but I still don't know where she went. In truth, I was terrified that she would never come back, that some day soon there would be a story in the paper of an abandoned car by the top of a cliff. But she came back, as she said she would, and told me that she wanted a divorce. There was no question that George could look after Charlie fulltime on her own, so I found somewhere for the two of us and eventually moved out. George locked all her feelings away inside her, so that she appeared to have no feelings at all from that day forth. That was why Charlie gave her the name of The Ice Maiden. I hated it whenever I heard Charlie use that name, because I knew that George had the capacity to be as vibrant and loving as any woman I'd ever known." 

He stopped, seeming to have completely run out of words. Helen remained silent, giving him a few minutes to compose himself and to calm his thoughts, before saying, "You still carry an awful lot of guilt about your marriage to George, don't you." "Believe me, it is well deserved," He told her bitterly. "Guilt feeds on itself, Judge," She told him matter-of-factly. "So that the longer you feel it, the more deep-seated it becomes. At some point in the next few months, there's something I'd like you to do for me. Try talking to George, try talking about your marriage and the things that went wrong with it. You can bet that she's still got as much guilt and hurt inside her about it as you have. You both need to let it go and move on with the relationship you have now, but neither of you will be able to do this with any meaning until you've got every bad feeling finally out in the open." 


	61. Chapter 61

Part Sixty-One

A detached observer of the inside of St. Mary's Hospital, Paddington might conclude it to be seasonless. Showers of rain might batter down at the scurrying insect like shapes scuttling towards the gaping swing doors in wintertime. Alternately, the summer humidity and burning sun might drag at the heels of the onward plod of those same shapes. Once through these doors, the hospital enfolded all comers in the same institutional grip. The paintwork was bright and neutral coloured and faded away everything belonging to the outside world. The atmosphere might be soporific for the patient resigned to a passive role but life or death demands meant that both consultant and nurse alike were aware that the situation could so easily switch to sudden emergency, to fevered demands to move very quickly should the situation demand. The patient that all and sundry pushed into theatre on the 'crash trolley' might have been placidly lying in bed only a minute or so earlier on. Even at the quietest times, no one working at St. Mary's Hospital could ever totally drop their guard. This was the unchanging pattern of life whether or not spring buds grew on the bare branches outside or whether discoloured leaves fluttered from them to the bare earth.

The only break in this uniformity of experience came at Christmas. By some common consent, the slot fell to Donna to organize putting up the Christmas tree up on Darwin Ward and to decorate it very artistically. That is to say, Chrissie with unusual good humour tolerantly let Donna direct her to do a lot of the donkey work while Donna fiddled about very artistically while talking nine to the dozen. With her winning smile and gift of the gab, she had already found it easy to blag the more demonstrative not to say show offish men to pin gaudy tinsel in hanging geometrical, diagonal lines in the main ward. Of course, there was the understanding that Christmas at St. Mary's wasn't the happiest thought among the patients. They could so easily have been doing what all people do at Christmas, trying to snatch that daydream of a better life, the candles casting their glow of a homelike home and a happy family gathered around the traditional hearth, or so the Christmas cards told them they wanted reality to be. Instead, they were stuck inside an institution and, no matter how kind hearted the carers were, the hospital wasn't home.  
For the staff, it was a different matter for St Mary's was where they all belonged, for a larger slice of their waking lives than most of them would care to admit and the Christmas tree had a whole other meaning for them. This was the time of the year that pressed together the sometimes far-flung community of the working population into one arena, for good or ill. Then again, Christmas parties also meant the habitual casual affairs and sexual infidelities that tested the relationships between those who worked at St. Mary's and their partners on the outside, sometimes to destruction.

Ric had just come off his shift and was strolling through the ward when Donna greeted him with a dazzling smile.  
"I really could do with someone tall like you, Mr. Griffin, to put the angel at the top of the tree. I get nervous wobbling on top of a chair and might fall off and break a leg. You wouldn't want that, would you"  
At the art of turning on the feminine charm, Ric reflected to himself, Donna might not be the past mistress as Connie is but he was prepared to be a sucker for it one more time. After all, what's there to lose in putting up a decoration on a Christmas tree? Ric graciously volunteered to bask in a bit of female attention, however spurious. It wasn't till he looked closer at the height of the tree that he realized that he might end up twisting either his back or his neck. Nevertheless, he resolved, in for a penny, in for a pound, a saying not in his ex-wife's grandmother's repertoire of proverbs.  
"Handling angels again, Mr. Griffin?" Came the cool sultry amused voice from somewhere at the back of him. He didn't need to ask himself who the owner of that voice was. Ric said nothing while he stretched himself up to the very top of the tree and held the angel in his fingers.  
"Well, naturally, Donna came to the expert," Came his outrageously smug reply.  
"It's amazing what men will do if they're gently edged in the right direction," Connie retorted coolly and dismissively.  
"I suppose you think that all men are weak willed and will sell out their principles, either here or in court," Broke in Zubin's earnest yet angry tones. Ric groaned to himself. He had been unwillingly drawn into the cross cutting tensions between Zubin and Connie over the impending trial. They had behaved in an over civilized fashion to each other but he had known that it wouldn't take much to snap these these restraints and Zubin was clearly spoiling for a fight. He would have been grateful for a truce between the warring sides with a bit of Christmas spirit and, most of all that war wouldn't break out right now when he was physically least prepared to deal with it.  
"Let's not go there, all of us. After all, it's nearly Christmas," Ric muttered quietly as he placed the angel securely on the top of the tree and turned round sideways. As he spoke, he knew that he was only talking about the cosy image of Christmas, not the downside that they all saw of the upsurge of admissions during and after Christmas, the alcohol related car accidents and the women rushed in to casualty, the grim aftermath of domestic discord, of Christmas dreams gone horribly wrong. Connie had seen the flare up of black anger in Zubin's eyes and immediately realized she had overstepped the mark. With expert agility, she darted back from the precipice.  
"Believe what you wish. It's not important anyway. Ric, I wanted to have a word with you about quite another matter altogether, the staff Christmas arrangements"  
Connie had adroitly turned away from Zubin and faced Ric instead. "Business or pleasure"  
"Definitely pleasure," Connie retorted with a hint of a smile on her lips, which made Ric shake his head. "Please explain, Connie. I'm interested"  
"There's a possible vacancy for a Santa Claus at the staff Christmas party and I wanted to sound you out about it"  
"Oh no." Ric laughed. "all this ho ho ho, fake jollity isn't really me. Besides, I'd far sooner be one of the bystanders"  
"Come on, Mr. Griffin, you'll love to have all those pretty nurses sitting on your knee"  
Connie coaxed him, the full effect of her violet eyes being trained on him in one final attempt to change his mind for him. Ric nearly weakened but smilingly shook his head. Connie wasn't put out in the slightest and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.  
"So, I've got to decide instead which lucky man will be the elf"  
"You're going to be Santa Claus instead." It was a statement of the obvious, not a question.  
"Well, naturally since you're not playing"  
Ric laughed as he could see what was coming up a mile away. There were times when Connie wasn't quite as enigmatic as she liked to think she was. "If I'm in the audience, I can admire your very fetching Santa outfit and I can't do it if I'm the elf. Tell you what, I'll be the bouncer and I'll sling out anyone who is acting the idiot and getting out of hand"  
He would far sooner be amongst the audience from what he remembered last year of Connie's very alluring Christmas outfit. Connie nodded briefly in appreciation of the offer of help, which, on reflection, was a sensible precaution.  
"Well, it looks as if I'll have to look for a substitute. I'm sure Mubbs will be more malleable. Besides, it would do him good to shoulder some responsibility at an event like this"  
With one flick of her eyes, she moved off and paced nonchalantly up to the unsuspecting Mubbs while Zubin edged his way up to Ric. "I can't see just why you continue to sit on the fence where Connie is concerned. You have to learn that sooner or later you have to take sides." Zubin muttered reproachfully. "At least Tom has the right idea for a change"  
"So, after years of bitching at Tom, he's a good guy at last." Ric retorted sarcastically.  
"That's not the point." Came the sullen reply.  
"Believe you me, it's very much the point. Anyway, I've found out that no one is entirely on my side, not you, not Connie. Friendship's one thing, Zubin. Blindly following someone like a sheep is quite another. Just you remember that"  
They were too engrossed to see Connie stalk Mubbs and finally pounce on him.  
"I've got a proposition for you to take up a little extra curricular position. You'll enjoy it." Ric grinned in amusement as a fraction of his hearing picked up on the silky tones in which she addressed Mubbs, yanking his attention away from talking to Will and Lisa. Connie gestured imperceptibly to Mubbs to follow and he eagerly followed her to a corner of the room. Ric could almost see the way that part of Mubbs' anatomy rise to the delicately poised bait, dangled in front of him. A big grin of anticipation spread all over his face as he relished being picked out from all others for Connie's favour. "That sounds great." Mubbs was heard to say without asking exactly what it was.  
"I want you to help me out playing Santa Claus and, between you and me, you're the perfect man for the job"  
"You mean"  
"I want you to be my helper. All those pretty nurses will be queuing up for you, I mean if you want them. Think it over, Mubbs. It will be one up to you on your CV. And afterwards, who knows"  
Ric had edged just far enough nearer to overhear Connie and Mubbs while talking shop with Zubin. He had to almost pity the weak minded man with big ideas about himself letting himself be so easily drawn by the combination of Connie's sexual allure and the chance of opportunistically furthering his own career. The calculated combination was irresistible.

Connie had delegated as little as she could to Mubbs in the run up to the party. She was just putting the finishing touches to her outfit in a dimly lit room when Mubbs walked in. To his astonished eyes, Connie sat cross-legged and pulling up a thin black sock up her elegant leg to just short of her knee and it made the Santa outfit ride up her thigh. In his fantasies, it looked like Connie was donning a pair of black leather high-heeled boots before his eyes could see more clearly. He remembered he'd seen some American film more than once on the telly about a good looking older woman who looked like her but after a promising start, it got boring and he ended up falling asleep on the sofa.  
"Are you ready, Mubbs." She asked with a slight smile on his lips and noticed that Mubbs was more the size and build of an elf in his costume than Will was last year. As in every other situation she was in, she ended up on top and in charge. "Yeah, Connie. The other half of the team's ready and waiting."

Nonchalantly, Connie made her grand entrance with that almost imperceptible sway of her hips in the figure-hugging outfit. The hem of the red outfit, edged with white fur pushed the limits of what she could get away with in drawing a horizontal line well above her knees, defying convention. Again, every other normal bulky Santa outfit but Connie's went up to the chin. It was, after all, supposedly to defy the winter elements of Greenland. Trust Connie to be different as her outfit was carefully unbuttoned at the top displaying her charms for all to see and her demonstration of power over them. Certainly all the men had a free present as their eyes were out on sticks as she smiled graciously at all around her. Everyone could look at her and confirm her queen bee status but it was down to her to decide who could touch. 


	62. Chapter 62

A/N: Credits to Charles Dickens 'A Christmas Carol' and The Pretenders '2000 miles'

Part Sixty Two

"Well, it's down to you two to get the Christmas tree and put the bloody thing up. I'll help as I'll supervise." Gina decided firmly "Couldn't we hang on and wait till the works department come back to us. They did say that they'd make an extra special effort to deliver it on time." Colin queried hopefully. He really didn't fancy getting prickled all over and do his back in. That tentative suggestion was promptly squashed flat by Gina's incredulous look of scorn at his pitiful naivety not to mention her acid reply "Yeah, and Santa Claus slides down the chimney and parks his sleigh on the roof. Haven't you learnt by now, those muppets tell the same load of crap to every mug who phones up this time of the year. No, you and Dominic are going to take the transit and get a tree from the local market. Come on, chop chop"  
"Oh, so you like Christmas after all, Gina?" Dominic retorted with a sly grin.Gina's only response was to stick her tongue out at him before he sauntered lazily away accompanied by Colin.

An hour later, a scraping slithering sound could be heard accompanied by muffled shouting and rattling sounds of metal announced the arrival of the tree at the gate from the exercise yard. Gina guessed what was happening and , after turning the key in the lock, a fir tree wobbled its way horizontally forwards pointing its way towards the main area. As it moved in, snatches of arms and legs could be spotted as Dominic manfully held the tree two thirds down its length while Colin looked distinctly weary as he manhandled the base of the trunk. "Is that for the prison officers, miss?" Julie Johnson, spurred on by her insatiable curiosity, was first off the mark to ask questions. It looked a bit big for the prison officers and she didn't want to build her hopes up too high.  
"Course it ain't, Julie. It's for all of you from the governor. Special delivery." Gina said with a broad smile while a sweating red-faced Dominic, pine needles prickling his face, lurched by and led the tree to its spot in the large container ready for it. He and Colin let the base slide sideways and the trunk was dropped a little heavily into the middle of it before they pushed the trunk into the air and leant it against the corner of the room.  
"Hey , watch the pine needles." sang out Julie Johnson incautiously to Dominic who positively wagged his head vertically while the two action men rushed past with all the verve of an police emergency action squad. "They take ages to clear up." "Later, Julies, later." Gina urged hastily, seeing the expression of desperation on Dominic's face. The poor guy's face was scratched by pine needles and she really hated to see his obliging nature taken advantage of, even if it was unintentional.  
"Let them get it safe so it doesn't fall on somebody's head. I'd feel a right twat writing that one down in the accident book." Like lightning, the two men rushed to pack in earth and stones round the base of the tree while all the prisoners stood round in a semi circle. Even Kris found it possible to let her disdainful expression soften and she showed unobtrusive respect for them by taking care to stand out of their way. Eventually, flushed and ties and shirts crumpled and awry, they pronounced the tree safe and secure to their satisfaction and they preened themselves noticeably while facing the crowd. Their manner was a distinct throwback to their ancient ancestor, the proud ancient caveman who, having battled to the death with a dangerous mammoth and having exhibited the trophy outside the cave to keep the family fed for the next whenever, silently sought a gesture of appreciation for their hard work and heroism. The massed female reaction, while appreciative of the generosity of effort for their behalf, also contained an undertone of archetypal reaction also going back to the stone age.  
"Men, eh." Whispered one Julie to the other and Gina grinned in sympathetic agreement.

On Christmas day, Karen woke up to feel nothing in particular. She rolled over in bed to take in the view of her flat, and nothing was much different from any other day except for the token baubles put up as an afterthought and the usual small silver Christmas tree in the corner of her room. Everything was so quiet and empty in her flat and the dim colourless light filtered in through cracks in the curtains. She had a dim ancestral memory of unwrapping Christmas presents down on the carpet with a laughing Ross at her side, slaving over an impossibly large dinner and the flow of alcohol later on in the precious time when Ross was asleep in bed but where was everything right now when she needed it? Perhaps Christmastime was so precious then as it was so hard won. This was for two reasons, once in terms of getting time off work as a relatively powerless nurse low down in the line of authority and twice in the way her monthly pay had been so tightly stretched for the run up to Christmas. These days, money came easy and she could afford to buy what she wanted and the only authority she had to answer to was her own sense of commitment. She had got a lot of what she had strived for so hard……except a family. That was what Christmas was about surely, underneath all the glossy adverts and cheap cards.

She had got up eventually, spent time desultorily eating a few token chocolates and switching on the television to cheer herself up. Instantly, she regretted her decision as what should come on the box but the Eastenders Christmas special. The only thing that stopped her switching the television off was that she had no idea what else she would do with her time. What appeared before her numbed consciousness was the brassy glare and overbright colours of the Queen Vic and an overdose of cheeriness. She let it play on even if, to her taste, the whole thing was tastelessly tacky and overdone. To her gloomy reveries, some part of the nation was indulging themselves in some such fashion and she wasn't. When she couldn't stand it anymore, she switched the television off and crushed out the stub of another cigarette. Christmas left some gaping void in her life and she desperately needed something to latch onto. Then the idea popped into her head from out of the blue to go to Larkhall instead. Her second instinct was to dismiss it as an utterly crazy idea. On reflection, she judged that she should look at the idea critically and not dismiss it out of hand. After all, she reasoned to herself, there was nothing else on offer. Her closest friends are bound to have retreated within the barricades of stocked up Christmas dinner, chocolates and lines of alcohol, not to emerge for several days. It was just that she had put Christmas to the back of her mind ironically just when she had most power and money to decide it for herself. If she has any family left now, it lies at Larkhall, prisoners and prison officers alike. Grabbing hold of a large Christmas cake, well seasoned in alcohol, she emerged from her bunker into the clear bright day.

At the other end of Karen's Gina and Selena were fiddling about with the artistic touches of putting up baubles, made obviously of plastic so that the likes of Natalie wouldn't be conveniently armed with a jagged glass weapon. Both worked wordlessly, the one instinctively passing the next Christmas decoration to the other and gradually the finished article had been taking place. The Julies were watching the whole process in appreciation before sliding off to their cell for their own purposes. All year was one continuous process of serving meals and cleaning bogs as opposed to the more humdrum activities that some of the other prisoners were detailed to do. Christmas day meant that their activities were reduced to the minimum outside mealtime and, in a modest way, the prisoners would be allowed to 'chill out' later on. Normally, they made do with the meager resources and the Julies' all-purpose skills in magicking something out of nothing. This year was shaping up to be different.  
"We got to check the booze is stashed away so nobody will find it." Muttered Julie Johnson with an insistent edge to her voice. "All right this one time but after that just leave it out till evening"  
Sighing with inevitable acquiescence, Julie Saunders gave way and in the tone of words common to all those parents whose will to refuse has been gradually ground down. She led the way to check again that Yvonne's generosity would be carefully guarded. It really wasn't a good idea to overdo it as it only took that bitch Natalie Buxton to catch half a hint as to what was going on that she would throw a spanner in the works out of sheer spite. Besides, they had visiting time coming up to see their kids whom they hadn't seen for ages.

"What do you think about nipping into Larkhall? We've done the usual and bought more chocolates than we'll ever get to eat?" Nikki pronounced out of nowhere.  
Helen felt lazy, replete and in the mood to let the morning pass by in a delicious comfortable haze but Nikki had one of her ideas pop into her mind.  
"You don't have to go into Larkhall because you think you're indispensable. Don't fall for that one the way I used to"  
"That's not the reason. I know by now that I can let anyone of my staff do what needs doing without having to worry if they're doing it right. It's not like in your day when you had to watch out for those backstabbing bastards. It only took a few of them and most of the rest of them holding back to make your life a misery. No, I just fancy going in as if I were a visitor and bring in a bit of a token present to those who won't have what the rest of us are getting on the outside. Except for the Julies and Denny, most of those I knew way back when are on the outside now. Not all of us are that lucky. Christmas dinner's prepared but I don't feel like eating till later. Come on, Helen. We've time to pop over for a quick visit"  
Helen studied Nikki closely and could see how quickly she had relaxed after one night away from work. After six months, she had thoroughly established her presence. From what she had picked up from Nikki, it had slowly dawned on Helen that being wing governor of G wing need not be a traumatic experience. This Christmas was the first one when both of them could take well-deserved time off together for time together with each other. In contrast every year up till the last, Nikki's club just had to be open night after night for everyone else's Christmas revelry. Nikki could not pass up the business and felt compelled to do her share of the work. This burden was off her shoulders and she looked the fresher and more relaxed for it. What could be nicer for both of them if they chose to pop into Nikki's place of work at Larkhall, and not because they had to. That made all the difference and won her over as much by that as by Nikki's soft persuasive ways. They had enough time to take it easy later on and let life flow gently round them.  
"All right, Nikki, you're on. It would be a bit of fun." Nikki grabbed a big tin of Roses chocolates and as they made their way to the car, they both noticed how utterly deserted the streets were. It would be nice to gently motor over to Larkhall rather than fight their way through the traffic.

It was visiting time at Larkhall and Lauren and Yvonne crossed the courtyard along with David Saunders and Rhiannon Dawson but were oblivious of the intersecting paths of the apparently unrelated strangers. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Lauren noticed a familiar face with sharp, chiseled features that was smiling at her. For the life of her she couldn't place this half remembered face. This was most unusual for Lauren who shared her mother's capacious memory for faces and names and the deeds, good or bad, which were written indelibly into their names. "Don't you remember me? I'm Rhiannon Dawson. You took me and my brother to visit my mother. You know her as Julie Johnson." Lauren opened her mouth and she was able to connect this tall, smartly dressed woman with what seemed like the little schoolgirl who was nervous of her, of the whole harsh unfamiliar world outside her limited experience. Lauren was the self-assured adult to whom Rhiannon had followed with blind trust. The other woman had changed not so much physically but in her manner, which had control and poise and made Lauren adjust her perspective smartly.  
"Of course. My, how you've changed. You've grown up so much"  
Lauren's spontaneous reaction made her feel a little foolish. It seemed only recently that her time spent inside here had made her the recipient of such comments.  
"Sounds a lot better than being told I'm throwing my life away"  
Lauren smiled vaguely in return as her gaze wavered away from her and took in the tall, handsome fair haired man standing next to Rhiannon as if he knew her. Some feeling told her that she ought to be able to place him. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" she hazarded a guess.  
"I've not seen you before." He kindly reassured her." But I'm David Saunders. You'll know my mother Julie Saunders"  
"Of course. Your mum was always talking about you. I'm Lauren Atkins in case you didn't know"  
While this went on, Yvonne stood back from the conversation as Lauren was obviously dealing with the situation quite capably. Only later on, while they waited to go in did Yvonne start chatting to them. They filed in all feeling very strange that they ought to have known each other but didn't. There were very strong ties that bound these three strangers together even if they hadn't seen each other before today. It was the vivid pen pictures drawn for each of them by those who really did know each other and were bound by unbreakable ties, no matter where all of them were physically scattered now. Denny caught sight of the Julies' children the moment they came into view. She was lost for words as she heard the brief introductions. She let big sister handle this one as she couldn't get her head round with the mental image of the Julies' kids who, in her mind, were still kids from the way the Julies talked of them. A little while later, Yvonne's gregarious nature merged the three geometrically separate sets of tables and chairs into one convivial crowd. Dominic was on duty and noticed this but turned a blind eye to this rather than adopt Sylvia's military approach of each to their own visitor.

A chorus of greetings from all sides greeted Karen as she set foot on the wing, which touched her. It warmed her heart as something that made her feel needed. The sight of the box under her arm attracted curiosity from the prisoners. She made her way to the canteen area, which was set out for the slight concession to Christmas dinner as opposed to the sausage and beans or regular meat pie and chips. The Julies were returning to the wing with big smiles all over their faces and were ready to set to with more of a will to get the dinner ready when Karen mouthed silently that she wanted their attention. "Why Miss Betts. It's a surprise to see you here on Christmas day. I would have thought you'd have the week off and go out and enjoy yourself. Larkhall ain't exactly the place when everyone on the outside want to go out to enjoy themselves and let their hair down. I wouldn't have thought that you'd have wanted to bother coming in here." "Do you really think I'd feel that way about you all?" The Julies were totally taken aback by the wholly unexpected tenderness in Miss Betts voice, that most correct of governors. They vaguely knew that she cared about them in her way but that was because she was dead professional. Nothing personal ever entered the picture today, not even in that backhanded fashion. Their mouths remained open but, for once, they were stuck for words.  
"I also want your help to slice this Christmas cake. I don't know off hand just how many there are to go round"  
"Go round who"  
"Why, the two of you and all the rest on G Wing. Who else"  
"Let's have a butchers at how big it is." Julie S said after a long pause. This kindness was all the more welcome as it was so unexpected. They would enjoy even a small sliver better than some bored businessman with a slap up meal before him at the Ivy. Deftly, she unfolded the flap and gasped at the sight of the huge and sumptuous cake. She judged that she would need her extra long carving knife from the wall rack.

"It looks lovely, fantastic." She said at last. "I can't think what to say except that it looks dead tasty"  
"It should do with the alcohol inside it…….."Karen commented dryly. Julie J's smiled vaguely in response, concealing her concern at the coincidence of events. A slice of that and Yvonne's booze and she feared that they would all be off their trollies at lockup time. "…….so I need your help in cutting the cake." Continued Karen briskly.  
"How many pieces is that?" asked Julie Saunders as she tried to picture all the prisoners in G Wing and failed dismally.  
There was a long pause while Karen looked blankly at Julie. For some obscure reason, it had slipped her mind. Eventually she found words to think and speak in answer.  
"I'll check my records and I'll come and tell you."

Helen and Nikki arrived at the gates of Larkhall and Helen was taken aback to have to sign the visitor's book and turn her handbag inside out for Ken's attention. For a fraction of a second, she imagined that she would pass through on the nod in the way she used to do. She smiled to herself more than anyone else when she realized that she was just a visitor, nothing more and Larkhall had no demands on her apart from being the passive subject of another institution's rules and regulations. She snapped into place the 'visitor' clip on badge where once she had fastened the 'Governing Governor' badge. It made all that seem a long time ago. Helen checked herself in not leading the way to G Wing as once she did and followed Nikki's lead instead, carrying the tin of chocolates. As Nikki opened the last set of gates and appeared in the wing, "Why it's Nikki," the Julies gasped breathlessly, totally taken aback to see two unexpected but very welcome visitors. "And Miss Stewart an' all"  
Helen broke into hearty laughter at being greeted in this fashion. The words conveyed a distant memory with a confused feel to it. "I'm not your boss any more, everyone. I'm on Civvy Street now and you can call me Helen. Everyone else does. We've just popped in to bring you a tin of chocolates to make Christmas a bit brighter. I just hope we don't get under Karen's feet"  
"I thought that you'd be sitting back, watching television, and taking it easy. I'm delighted to see you here." Barbara spoke in clear crisp tones, somehow in the same way that she had always talked to them when all of them were on the outside. They might as well all have been talking in the bar round the corner of the Old Bailey. "I thought I was just coming in to bring in some chocolates to stop me eating them all and putting on weight"  
"That's a good one, Nikki. You know, pigs might fly." Gina's blunt rejoinder came as a disembodied voice through from the back of the semi circle of women gathered around them.  
"Well, you've got to think of these things." Came Nikki uncharacteristically coy reply to the general laugh from all sides. An atmosphere of light hearted joviality had gently gathered them all up and made them all very talkative when Karen turned the corridor from returning from her very rapid check of the prisoner records. Her face lit up to hear two very distinctive voices in the middle of the hubbub. Coming closer to the crowd completed the process of coming in from the cold and dark to a clearing where the red flickering light of a blazing bonfire gradually banished the chill in her bones and bathed everything in warm friendly colours. She couldn't wait to join the crowd. "What a lovely surprise to see you both"  
"We thought we'd do our Mother Christmas bit with a few chocolates."came Nikki's self-effacing reply.  
"I've just had the best but you can't beat real friendship at Christmastime. That's the best present of all"  
"I hope that the rest of the day won't fall flat after this." Nikki asked solicitously in a gap in the general conversation.  
"Now you come to mention it, some of the girls are thinking of carrying on this party to our cell if that's all right with you Miss." Julie J said with wide-eyed innocence.  
"Yeah, there's a couple of the new girls come here just before Christmas and are really missing their nearest and dearest. It will help them settle in, like." Julie Saunders hastily jumped in with her interjection. She hadn't planned on Ju going and blurting it out like this, not before about the sharpest pair of eyes who looked sharply at her. Lucky for them, Miss Stewart was gabbing away to the governor or they would really have the Spanish Inquisition. Yvonne had arranged special delivery but that didn't mean Nikki knew about it or wanted to know about it.  
"And you're both in charge of this?" Nikki said at last after an agonizingly long pause for reflection.  
"Oh yeah, miss." They both said for the first time in their lives at the same time. Inwardly, Nikki grinned to herself as she suspected that this was a load of flannel but keeping the straightest face she could summon up, she delivered her verdict.  
"Then I trust that everything is in safe hands." Came her clipped reply with a distinct emphasis on the word 'trust' before continuing in a softer gentler tone. "I really hope you all enjoy yourselves and everyone gets looked after"  
The Julies nodded eagerly at Nikki and were conscious of a sharp draft of cold air, which seemed to come from down the staircase. The atmosphere suddenly seemed to turn strange for no accountable reason. They dismissed it as some kind of reaction to the stress of the last few minutes and Julie S explained to Nikki. "It's got bloody cold. I've just had a funny feeling as if somebody's stepped on my grave if you know what I mean. I don't need to read my tea leaves to reckon that one out." 

From the top of the threes, a pair of disembodied haunted eyes stared disbelievingly down on them. He was no stranger to Larkhall but it was not the Larkhall that he knew. The panoramic view below him seemed totally familiar yet nightmarish in its total distortion. His eyes refused to believe what was in front of him yet it seemed as real as he was. He longed to shout out the words that used to come so easily to him," shut it, you bitches","Everyone, back to your cells or you'll all be banged up" but the words refused to come out of his mouth. He reached out for his mobile to call for back up but it wasn't there, nothing that he was used to being around him was there. Both hands gripped at the top of the staircase rails but there was no feel in his hands anymore. He felt frighteningly powerless and unable to impose his presence on all around him as he was always used to doing. He gazed despairingly round at someone who would help him but even Sylvia and Di were no longer there. He refused to look at his enemies and his eyes burnt beseechingly at Karen. Surely to God, the stupid cow could see him but she carried on, laughing and joking with Stewart who had returned from God knows where. He thought he has seen her off years ago but even she had crawled back from under the woodwork. This couldn't be real, surely.

He gripped his head in his hands and slumped to the floor and reached out for something real to cling onto while this nightmare refused to go away from in front of his eyes. He even punched desperately at the nearest vertical bars of the metal staircase which ought to have cracked his knuckles with frightful pain but that didn't happen either. His fist seemed to travel through the bar without connecting with it. He didn't connect with anything and now he began to feel really afraid. As if to get away from the horrid suspicion in his mind, he looked again at the wing laid out below him from a position, which gave him far too good a view of the madness. In the corner was a Christmas tree, a bloody Christmas tree with decorations. Stewart was laughing and handing out sweeties to Blood and Hunt while Wade looked as if she owned the place. Those two daft women were passing out Christmas cake from some liberal prisoner lover. Everyone was bloody laughing- were they laughing at him, he wondered? There's only one thing he could think of as the scenery was sickeningly happy and lovey dovey sodding sisterhood bonding. They wouldn't have Jim Fenner to kick around any more, pension or no pension.  
He really missed Sylvia and Di Barker as they were the only friends of his. No one else really appreciated him and could remember the good old days. Why hadn't they come round to see him recently? It was ages since he'd seen them. He started to feel maudlin and depressed and isolated at the thought of it.

"Scrooge ..became sensible of confused voices in the air; sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory .The spectre joined in the mournful dirge and floated out on the bleak dark night.  
Scrooge looked out of the window, desperate in his curiosity. The air was filled with phantoms, wandering in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Marley's Ghost ….Many had been known to Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost in a white waistcoat with a monstrous iron safe attached to his ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant whom it saw upon a doorstep. The misery of them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere for good in human matters and had lost the power forever………"

"At least we won't have Fenner putting the mockers on all the fun. He's dead and gone." He heard Blood shout out. He was too angry at that dyke bitch cheeking him to realize the horrible significance of the remark for a few moments. But that surely can't be. He must be alive. There's so much more he could do in this nick and he hadn't even got to be a permanent suit, only some stand in for those he was most jealous of, first Stewart, then Betts and now.  
"We aint't never had a wing governor come in over Christmas day before……" Julie Johnson said "What else could I do, Julie. After all, behind all the uniform, I'm only Nikki."

That quiet exchange was a bombshell to Fenner. He couldn't believe his ears and realized at last that he must really be cracking up. That bitch Wade who's stood on the steps of that lousy Court of Appeal and had the cheek to accuse him on daytime TV of being some kind of rapist was one bloody nightmare for him. He had worried for weeks what would all the neighbours think of him. It choked him to think that she, of all people, had waltzed in to wear the suit that he had thirsted for for years and had worked so hard in sucking up to all the bosses over him. He had to find one single thing he could cling onto. As his mind raced furiously and frantically, he thought that he had found the answer. He looked down at himself as his last chance to reassure himself of his own normality, even if the rest of the world was a bloody madhouse. He was wearing a check lumberjack shirt and casual trousers and they looked superficially the same as normal except that he looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. He must have been out on the piss, taken a wander round some park and fallen flat on his face. He couldn't remember any of it. Then, when he looked closer, there was far too much earth that had stuck to him and had become embedded in his clothes. He started to worry. It was when he went to straighten his clothes when he noticed a round tear in the shirt material. He sighed in exasperation that they'll have to go to the menders as well as the launderette. As he peered closer and felt at it, he realized that the hole extended right into his body. He started to scream soundlessly to himself while, only a couple of staircases below, the revelries of Christmas went on, oblivious to him…..

"………The Ghost Of Christmas Yet to Come conveyed him, as before, not into the resorts of businessmen, but went straight on until they reached a churchyard…. Walled in by houses, overrun by grass and weeds; choked up with too much dying. A worthy place! The Spirit stood among the graves and pointed down to One. He advanced towards it trembling. The phantom was exactly as it had been but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape. Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went and, following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name: EBEBEZER SCROOGE………" …….and Fenner was gradually being drawn in helplessly and moving ever closer despite his own will to resist and back away, He witnessed the square carved words on the rectangular slab become clearer every second and imprint the words on his mind: JAMES FENNER. He carried on screaming wordlessly as, at last he realized that now there was no redemption, no chance of ever getting back into the game of life and that somewhere out there he lay under the earth. Sylvia and Di Barker would not return to him. His life was finished whereas their lives would carry on and would pull away from where he was.

"You don't have to stay round here, Nikki.You need a rest and to take Helen home with you. We'll be all right now." Julie Johnson's very tender words and big blue eyes that touched Nikki's heart also froze Fenner's ghost with the tormented realization of that last diabolical pain of reality inflicted on him, far worse than the flames of hell. His sight darkened as even his sight failed him and he was slowly swallowed up into the nothingness where he had come from.

Nikki's eyes flickered indecisively as Julie J had read her thoughts but what else should she expect. There was a gentle warm glow amongst all those present. There was something else that Nikki ought to do and it came to her at last.  
"Hey Karen, do you want to come over with us for Christmas"  
Helen was chatting to Barbara but heard Nikki's suggestion. She turned her head and nodded approval of the idea. In turn Karen's ears pricked up as she stood next to Gina, looking on approvingly in general and gently basking in the good spirits.  
"Well, if I'm not putting you out"  
"Don't tell me that you've got work to do on Christmas day. Don't forget, I've had a spell doing your job. The place won't fall apart without you. Of course, if you've got alternative arrangements"  
Karen's mind shifted decisively to the answer to her needs. The memory of her morose gloomy start to the day wanted her to have some colour and light in her life. "Well, if you're putting it this way"  
"We are"  
"Then," continued Karen, grinning at Helen's determined retort, "I can't keep you waiting but I'd just like to wish you all a happy Christmas before I go." Even while she was talking about leaving, she was shuffling her feet and procrastinating "Don't worry, we will." Muttered Julie Saunders under her breath.  
"Go on, Miss Betts. You go on and enjoy yourself. You deserve it." Yelled out Denny.  
Karen's mind was blurred as it gradually struck her that, with Nikki and Helen flanking her on either side and Gina and Dominic bringing up the rear, it was as if she were a long term prisoner being given off a right royal send off by prisoners and prison officers alike. Just for once in her life, she hadn't got her overstuffed briefcase with her, which made her feel a little naked. She couldn't work out afterwards how she found herself outside the prison walls and, just once, she was glad to hand over her responsibility.

She was on a different track from her already very familiar track from flat to work and back and this was a welcome break for her. The roads were quiet and she felt at peace with herself as she lazily steered her car with the winter sunshine slanting into her eyes. In no time at all, she pulled up outside Helen and Nikki's flat in the quiet side street and into the basement flat. Instantly, she lay back in the armchair and let a lazy feeling float her away down the river. There was a cosy lived in feeling that relaxed her straightaway. Despite the grudging corner of the bookcase where Nikki kept some of her work files, the majority of it was rows of well-thumbed paperbacks, which expansively spanned decades of reflective thinking of all kinds. Helen's neat rows of psychology books and journals started from the bottom of the bookcase and merged into her choice of books which were not easily distinguishable from Nikki's "You take it easy, Karen, stick a CD on or whatever while we get Christmas dinner ready"  
As Nikki's voice died on the air, Karen took up the invitation and slipped on a "Pretenders Greatest Hits" CD and a perfect carillon of chiming bell like guitar notes resonated and repeated itself from the speakers wrapping her up in a feeling of old time Christmas cheer while over the top a very sultry sexy female voice unreeled the feelings of vast distances across the winter wastelands and of a coming reunion.

"He's gone 200 miles It's very far The snow is falling down Gets colder day by day I miss you

The children will sing He'll be back at Christmastime

In these frozen and silent nights Sometimes in a dream you appear Outside under the purple sky Diamonds in the snow sparkle Our hearts were singing It feels like Christmastime…."

The song was joyful, not painful as she might have thought from the words and, yes, while the song wasn't about her, she would let it cheer her up and put aside any self defensive shield of cynicism at least for the moment. Time passed slowly as she could dream awhile in this haven. The front room had that easy familiarity and comfort about it.

"Dinner's ready, Karen," she was hailed by Helen at perhaps unnecessary volume through the side door to the kitchen. "Like your taste in music. At least you didn't put on a Cliff Richard CD"  
"What Cliff Richard CD?" demanded Nikki in sharp incredulity.  
"The CD we haven't got." Came Helen's joking reply. "Anyway, it's time to eat." 

Before Karen's wide open eyes, the trio of candles in the centre of the dining table left their friendly glow and the corners of the room faded out into intimate semi darkness. Nikki and Helen served plates of sliced turkey and serving dishes with vegetables, roast potatoes, chipolata sausages , two sets of stuffings, gravy and bread sauce. Two bottles of chilled white wine gave the promise of the perfect accompaniment. This was an absolute feast of rarity of experience for Karen, the working sometimes single parent upon whose shoulders, past Christmases were burdened. The smell of the dinner to be served blended with two pairs of kindly eyes who only meant their disinterested best for Karen's peace of mind. She could rightly feel that she could make way for uncomplicated guilt free pleasure and that once of her choices in life was the right one. 


	63. Chapter 63

Part Sixty-Three

Christmas Day might have started at Larkhall at the usual time for unlock but the other side of the prison walls, it sometimes started much earlier.

Josh and Crystal had collapsed into bed late last night and were dead to the world very soon after a frantic burst of last minute activity. They had battled their way through the slow moving packed in crowds round the supermarkets, dealt with the very excited children. Crystal's time was really cut out these days as Daniel had learnt to walk by now and while he didn't know what Christmas was, he picked up on the atmosphere of excitement. They did their best to do the normal chores until they cajoled them to go to bed. Finally, they removed the presents from where they had stashed them in a large top cupboard and crouched on the floor to feverishly wrap the assortment of presents in garishly coloured wrapping paper. "I'm sure we've forgotten to get something, Josh. I know it"  
"Well, what is it?" Josh enquired, his forehead crinkled up with lack of comprehension.  
"If I knew what it was, I wouldn't be asking you"  
"This don't make any sense, Crystal. If you remember tomorrow, I'll find somewhere open and I'll get it"  
Crystal looked blankly through Josh. Maybe it was nothing, only that nagging desire to make Christmas as perfect as possible because of the fact that there wasn't that much to go round the rest of the year. She mentally pictured everything that had been gathered in from Brussel sprouts to more garlands for the front room. She shrugged her shoulders and gave up and wearily trudged up the steep flight of steps to their bedroom. At five in the morning, all was black and quiet in Josh and Crystal's upstairs bedroom.  
"Mummy, daddy, it's Christmas Day" piped an excited little voice from out of nowhere and clicked on the bedroom light. The effect of the light alone on two zombies, feeling dead to the world, felt equivalent to being very painfully mugged. The light was dazzling and stripped away what was left of their senses and neither could move off the bed as much as fly.  
"Father Christmas has come. I heard him sliding down the chimney and leaving us all our presents. That shows we've all been good or else he wouldn't have come. It's exciting"  
"What about Daniel?" Crystal mumbled sleepily, a flicker of reasoning power coming back to her. "I'll wake him up"  
"No don't, Zandra." Crystal replied hurriedly." He's only little and we must let him sleep. Let's just keep the secret to ourselves till when he wakes"  
"Yeah, that's right." Mumbled Josh from underneath the duvet.  
"But it's so exciting"  
"Tell you what. You lie in bed with us till Daniel wakes up. He'll be much happier that way and so will Father Christmas. He'll be looking down on us. Believe me"  
"All right." Zandra conceded to Crystal's hasty improvising. Crystal reasoned to herself that the Lord God would overlook this bit of creative thinking as after all, it was in a good cause. Zandra slipped sideways into the bed but she was still turning and twisting with suppressed excitement. Crystal and Josh reflected ruefully and blearily that innocent childlike belief in Santa Claus was a double-edged gift.

The run up to Christmas had been a totally different affair at Cassie and Roisin's house. This had all started from the increasingly difficult process of advance negotiation as to what presents would be appropriate and affordable for their children.  
"Mum," came that suspiciously casual aside from Michael one day." If you were wondering what you're buying me for Christmas, I'd love to have a mobile phone. "  
Roisin drew in a sharp intake of breath and paused before she committed herself to any course of action. Instinct taught her that she needed more information. Cassie' sharp ears had picked up on the conversation and she slid into the room from the hall.  
"Why a mobile phone, Michael? You've never mentioned this before." "That doesn't mean I've never wanted one." "There's more to this one than meets the eye." Roisin demanded with an edge of sternness behind her outwardly reasonable manner. She didn't mind Michael coming up with a suggestion for Christmas as he was getting to the age when it was becoming increasingly hard to keep up with what he liked and disliked. A series of warning bells were ringing in her ears of the implications of this idea.  
"All my friends are getting them and we can keep in touch with each other and you can do all sorts of things with them"  
"Like running up big phone bills." Cut in Cassie from behind Michael, making him jump.  
"I would have thought that you would have kept up with fashion when you were growing up, Cassie." Came Michael's lightning quick response to her.  
"You're right, Michael. I did." Cassie cut back in deliberate tones." There are quite a few things I've done in my life that if I had the chance to do differently, I would. For a start, you don't have to follow what everyone else does. You have to decide things for yourself"  
"All my friends' parents are buying mobile phones for them this year but I suppose I'll have to go on being the odd one out"  
"Listen, Michael, you haven't given us any good reason why you should have a mobile phone and if you can't even think what's going to happen about the bills, what if you're out somewhere and it gets lost or stolen, then we can't think that there's any good reason why you should have one. Cassie and I are not going to be pushed into doing something against our better judgement just because other parents are being foolish enough into being talked into handing out money for something which you don't need and, in our opinion, is not appropriate. We do things differently around here." "Yeah, everything about this family is different. I've learnt that much"  
Don't rise to it, Roisin, Cassie silently urged Roisin. Michael's dying for you to mention the one thing that's really bothering him these days, that he is getting more and more self conscious that he has two mums bringing him up. Why else does he go out to his friends' houses but they never come back here? There is a time to deal with this one properly but now is not the time. "Well, since we're agreed on at least one thing, Michael, what about having a music system for Christmas"  
"I don't want a music system, mum. If you don't mind, I'm going out"  
With that sulky retort, Michael slunk out of the house and was gone, leaving Roisin open mouthed.

"That boy is becoming impossible. Well, thank heaven, Niamh is sensible."Roisin exclaimed passionately. "Don't kid yourself, Roash, we may run into the same thing with Niamh in a few years time, Roash and it may be harder. Girls can think quicker than boys and have more of the gift of the gab. I know because I used to lead my parents a right dance when I was in my teens"  
"As you know, I was well behaved when I was young. Sometimes, I find it hard to deal with Michael when he's badly behaved. I talk to him about what I was like when I was his age and I sound like something out of the last century. At least the children might be able to relate to you rather than me sometimes….except they'll be rapidly ceasing to be children." "That's true,"Cassie answered thoughtfully, slipping her arm round Roisin to reassure both of them." but there is a downside. I can see myself more and more telling the kids to do what we say, not as I did. We just have to stick to our guns, that's all."

The process of negotiating with Michael and Niamh carried on and eventually, Michael was grudgingly reconciled to the situation and, as chance would have it, teenage fashion of the moment suddenly veered sharply towards music systems and Michael found his street credibility vastly enhanced without having to do anything. Then a curious process happened where, on Christmas Eve, he was temporarily removed from the peer pressure of his friends inside and outside school. Suddenly he became something like the cheerful boy that he used to be and actively asking for all the favourite children's cartoons like Wallace and Gromit. He had at least temporarily stopped being simultaneously self-conscious, over sensitive, like a fish out of water. He looked around him and his sister, Niamh, was suddenly there around him, just like she always had been. He smiled and chatted away to her without thinking all the time what others might think of him. All four of them were gathered together in the front room in peace and tranquillity, Cassie and Roisin having broken up for work and temporarily casting loose the cares of work on the other side of the twenty four hour shift of their daytime jobs.

"You won't wake up too soon in the morning, children." Roisin asked unthinkingly. Michael was hardly a child these days.  
"Don't worry, mum. The chocolates and presents will wait for Niamh and me and you don't have to tiptoe into our bedrooms any more and pretend to be Father Christmas or something." Came Michael's cheerful reply. It touched Roisin deeply that Michael was making an extra special effort to be nice.

Cassie and Roisin lay naked in bed under the duvet, curled up against each other. The run up to Christmas had so focussed them onto others that, so that it was only when they had finally got to bed when Cassie turned towards Roisin and ran her fingertips gently down the side of her face that Roisin remembered that that fair haired tower of strength was also her lover. There was no daily grind of getting the children to school and off to work. They were free to show their love for each other. They exchanged long lingering kisses while they shed their nighties and explored each other's bodies for hours in the heat of the night. It was then that their bedroom belonged exclusively for their own pleasure before they drifted peacefully off to sleep. In the morning, the bright winter sunshine gradually woke them up satisfied, reborn. They lay where they were and silently let the time drift past until they were ready to make a move.

"OK children, time to get up for Christmas." Roisin proclaimed from the landing, dressed in her respectable mum like nightie and dressing gown. "Must we?" came two moaning childish voices from different corners of the upstairs landing."It's not time for The Jungle Book"  
"Kids. No stamina." Laughed Cassie, leaning up in bed and smirking through the crack in the bedroom door through to a self satisfied Roisin. Trust the kids to have mapped out Christmas television. "It could be worse. Remember when the kids used to wake us up at four in the morning telling us that Father Christmas had come, yes even Michael." Roisin commented cheerfully, turning to Cassie. The other woman's faint smile was frozen on her face as she was taken aback for a second. What Roisin was talking about was before her time but a split second later, her smile broadened. No, she wasn't there at the time but she might as well have been there and some imaginary memory told her she very nearly was. 


	64. Chapter 64

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Sixty-Four

George had spent Christmas Day with John, Charlie and her father. It was the one time of the year that all four of them came together, well, nowadays anyway. Jo had spent the day with her two sons, both of whom had left in the evening, saying they were off to some party or other. Charlie having done the same, and Joe Channing having been given a lift home, this meant that now the three of them could be together. When Jo arrived, George got the distinct feeling that she and John had something planned, something they weren't as yet telling her about. They sat on the sofa for a while, drinking champagne and listening to music. But when John put his glass down on the coffee table and stood up, George took note of the smirk playing lightly over his lips. "Come on," He invited innocently to George. "We've got to give you your Christmas present." "And precisely why does that involve me moving?" George asked, a little tired and thoroughly relaxed. "You'll see," John promised her evasively. "I've been looking forward to this all day." "Yes, so have I, in a manner of speaking," Jo said as she too rose from the sofa. "You know just how to press all my buttons, don't you," George told John as she got up and began following them towards the stairs. "I should hope so, after all these years," John replied over his shoulder. 

When they reached the bedroom, Jo put on George's favourite classical CD, and John put the remains of the bottle of champagne down on the dressing-table. They both began sensuously removing George's clothes, the two sets of hands wandering over her body. Beginning to relax even more, George simply let them get on with their task. It was perfectly clear to her that they had discussed what they were going to do beforehand, and George realised that she must be in for the time of her life. When she stood before them, her skin richly glowing from the alcohol in her veins, and the light from the numerous candles John had lit around the room, John gazed at her with such love in his eyes that it made her shiver. "You look beautiful," he told her, reaching out a hand to gently caress her breast. "That's the champagne talking," George replied fondly, never entirely believing him when he said something like this. When he guided her over to the bed, Jo folded back the duvet. "Precisely what do you have in store for me?" She asked, her curiosity now thoroughly peaked. "Would these give you any idea?" Jo replied, having retrieved something from one of the dresser drawers. Dangling from her hand, was a pair of silk scarves. When George caught sight of them, she gasped, her whole face lighting up with pleasure. "It's years since I was tied up," She said in anticipation. "Which is why we thought you would enjoy it this evening," John told her, encouraging her to lie down on her back, and gently lifting each arm in turn. As Jo passed him the scarves, he tied first one hand and then the other to the fabulously carved headboard, making it completely impossible for her to touch anything but the wood under her fingers. 

As she watched, Jo and John slowly began to dance, occasionally kissing, and their hands gradually removing each other's clothes. The sight in front of her was so sensuously beautiful, that it made her speechless. When they were naked, they still danced, hands still wandering, mouths still deliciously entwined. When they eventually moved towards the bed, Jo lay down beside her. George turned her head to gaze at Jo, currently all she was capable of doing. Taking slight pity on her predicament, Jo leaned over to kiss her, their mouths dancing as lingeringly as Jo's and John's had moments before. 

When John joined them, he began kissing Jo again, his left hand wandering first over her breasts, and then reaching over to trace teasingly over George's. She gasped when he did this, as she hadn't been expecting it, simply thinking that they would make love in front of her, making her watch without being able to participate. She hadn't been in the least disappointed at this thought, as she knew it would be almost unbearably sexy. John's hand didn't linger on George's skin, not wanting to give her too much pleasure too soon. His mouth and hands were moving skillfully over Jo's body by this time, his lips encircling one of her nipples and making her groan with delight. George's gaze was fixed on them, unable to tear itself away. She longed to be able to join in, or at the very least to be able to give herself pleasure at the same time as watching the two of them, but she couldn't. This would, she knew, increase her eventual orgasm by a thousand fold. 

When John briefly left the bed, George wondered what on earth he was doing. But when he returned with the glass of champagne in his hand, she was presented with memories of the time Karen had once used champagne on her, after finding out that she had been given the job of Governing Governor. Dipping a finger in the glass, John trailed a line of glistening bubbles across Jo's nipples, making her gasp at the sensation of them bursting upon her skin. George knew only too well just how stimulating that was, and it made her smile. "I suppose you've done this before," Jo said, glancing over at George's smirking face. "Oh, yes," George told her without hesitation. John began kissing his way over Jo's champagne covered skin, licking away every trace of the frosty bubbles. Infinitely jealous of him, George simply gazed on with rapt attention. Dipping his finger again in the glass, John began moving it gently over Jo's clitoris, without any warning whatsoever. George grinned at Jo's cry of delight, as the ice cold tingling met her most sensitive flesh. Having left the glass on the bedside table, John kissed his way down until he was sampling the divine combination of an excellent vintage and Jo's unique taste. George ached to touch herself as she watched him do this, feeling her own body instinctively react. Her nipples were hardening to an almost painful quality, and she could feel her own juices rising and bubbling away like Vesuvius. But all she could do was watch, as John brought Jo nearer and nearer to the edge, eventually taking in everything Jo's body had to offer. 

As Jo lay gasping for breath, John moved carefully between them, leaning over George, and kissing her long and hard. George savoured every drop of Jo's taste that she could find on him, her pulse now racing at the thought of what was still to come. Trailing his hand down over her almost hypersensitive skin, he discovered just how thoroughly aroused she already was. "Good god," He said in surprise. "You're practically dripping." "That's your fault," She said with a smirk. "Both of you." But as his fingers sought out her hidden depths, she cried out at finally feeling someone's touch on her. "Now, what does my lady feel in the mood for this evening?" He asked, sounding so prim and proper that Jo laughed huskily. "You, now," George told him succinctly. "No preamble?" He asked in surprise, ready to give her whatever she wanted. "No," George replied, breathing hard. "I want you, inside me, right now." "And what the lady wants, tonight the lady gets," John said silkily, moving over her and sliding easily inside her boiling, bubbling cauldron of desire. As she still had her hands tied to the headboard behind her, she couldn't wrap her arms round him, so she made do with her legs. John was so fired up by having them both in his bed and at his disposal, that he almost crushed her to him, feeling every contour of her body aligning itself with his. George's body shook as she came, a cry of pure, undiluted pleasure sweeping through her. 

As John slumped down between them, Jo sat up, and reached over to untie George's bonds. George carefully eased her arms back into their normal position, and turned on her side to drape one of them over John. "My Christmas present was fabulous," She said, her voice sounding drowsy and full of contentment. "We thought you would enjoy it," Jo said fondly. Gradually regaining her energy, George slid down the bed, until her cheek was resting on John's right thigh. Putting out the tip of a pink tongue, she began cleaning away what was left of their encounter. Even though he was currently as soft and flaccid as the day he was born, John groaned in real authentic pleasure as her tongue moved over him. She could taste a combination of him and herself, and though this wasn't something she would choose to do every day, she enjoyed doing it for him now. He gradually rose to full hardness again under her ministrations, so she kept on going, now introducing her powerfully sucking lips into the equation. At the same time, she reached over with her right hand, and slipped it between Jo's legs, encountering the gloriously soft and silky flesh. Never one to pass up the opportunity of having George's delicate fingers moving on her, Jo lay there and basked in the feeling of it. Doing her best to arouse both of them at the same time, this was George's way of trying to repay the enormous amount of pleasure they'd given her. 

When George concluded that both John and Jo were again significantly aroused, she moved away from both of them, making it clear what she wanted them to do. As Jo put out her arms to John, he moved into them, slipping easily inside her. George lay and watched them as they moved in perfect synchrony, as a direct result of her handiwork. George couldn't resist touching herself as they made love beside her, knowing that with these two people, she couldn't possibly be happier. They were all three of them capable of causing pleasure in either or both of the remaining two, and tonight seemed to signify the real breaking down of any lingering sexual barriers between them. 


	65. Chapter 65

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Sixty-Five

Boxing Day morning dawned bright and clear, with the frost glinting on every car down the street. When George had slipped carefully and quietly from the bed, she stood in front of the large window and opened the curtains enough to look out on the glittering world outside. Frost made everything so pretty, she thought to herself as she yawned languidly, giving everything in sight a beauty that was only usually depicted inside a fairy tale. She glanced back over her shoulder at John and Jo, both still sound asleep in her bed, a fact that lit her from within more strongly than anything had in her life before. George felt serene on this cold and frosty morning, with the sun carving jewelled patterns in the half melted ice that dripped from the branches of the trees. After gazing out on this scene of nature's tranquility for a few minutes, George went to take a shower, leaving the other two occupants of the bed to carry on sleeping. 

Standing under the hot, powerful spray of the shower, George's thoughts strayed back to the previous evening. She'd had no idea about what Jo and John had planned for her, and it had been an incredible surprise. She would never have thought Jo quite so open-minded, but she guessed that anything was possible. She only just prevented herself from groaning in real, authentic pleasure at the memory of what they had both done to her, but she didn't want to wake them up. She ran her hands over her body, feeling the slight stiffness in her shoulders from having her arms tied behind her for so long. But it was a pleasant stiffness, a physical reminder of being tied up, of being at both their mercies. She ran her hands over her breasts, smoothing in the shower gel as she went. But as her right hand languidly swept over her left breast, her fingers gently caressing every inch, she stopped in astonishment, her fingers retracing their steps so as to be sure. There it was again, that hard, unfamiliar little lump under the skin. In a state of complete and utter shock, George again and again ran her fingers over the surrounding area, but the lump was still there, still under the skin, still indisputably wrong. 

After leaving Helen and Nikki's late the night before, Karen had taken a taxi home and left her car there. She'd had far too much drink to drive, so went back to retrieve her car in the morning. She didn't disturb them, seeing that all the curtains were closed with absolutely no sign of life. Karen had something else to do that day, something that required a long drive. She was going to visit the place where she'd scattered Ross's ashes at the beginning of August. The roads were quiet in the early morning, and she drove down the M3 with nothing but purpose in her hands and under her wheels. This was her day to try and make peace with her dead son, to try and lay some of the past finally to rest. She had enjoyed yesterday, a realisation that surprised her. She'd needed to go into Larkhall, to visit those who were the only family she had left now, and to give them the best time within her capability. She hadn't been sure about spending the rest of the day with Helen and Nikki, but she was glad now that she had agreed to it. They'd eaten dinner, mostly cooked by Nikki, consumed a fair amount of wine, and above all relaxed. It had been an undemanding day, precisely what they all had needed. 

But now, in the cold but sunny morning, Karen was driving further and further away from any possibility of a peaceful haven. She needed to visit her son's last resting place, almost to make sure that he was happy where she'd left him. She drove along all the familiar roads, eventually ending up in the small fishing village that at this time of the year was empty of any hint of tourists. The streets were absolutely devoid of people, all the houses shut tight against the bitterly cold wind that tore at her clothes as she got out of the car. 

As Karen began to walk up the cliff path, she briefly wondered at the sense of doing something like this on a day like today. The wind whistled round her, blowing her hair into a wild nest of fronds that resembled one of the windblown plants that grew along her path. But the sun was bright, and there was no hint of rain, and Karen was determined to reach the top. The path was entirely empty of walkers, it not being a day for even the most committed of people. She fastened her coat up round her to try and keep out some of the cold, and breathed in the intoxicating smell of the sea. The tang of the salt settled in her nose, bringing back a whole host of memories of when she used to bring Ross here as a child. The wind only became wilder the higher she climbed, and she spared a thought to wonder at the wisdom of coming up here on a day like this. 

When she eventually reached the plateau, the little space at the very end of the cliff, where the rocks tapered out into thin air, she sat down on the low wall and looked out to sea. Here was where she had left him, here was where she had scattered his ashes, and watched them float out on the breeze, ever to be swallowed up by the waves. She could feel the salty spray on her face, and knew that if she were to stand on the very edge of this rocky point, the wind would very likely take her away. She sat there for quite some time, thinking of Ross, and feeling an enormous amount of regret for what she hadn't been able to do for him. When she'd been there for a good while, she said into the wind, "I hope you're happier now, wherever you are." She couldn't have meant any sentiment more than this one, because she needed to know that for him at least, his suicide hadn't been in vain. 

When she returned to the car, she felt a little cleansed, as though the first major hurdle in her grieving process had been circumnavigated successfully. The weight of grief and guilt whenever she thought about him seemed ever so slightly less, something for which she could only be thankful. The first three years were the worst, or so the saying went, and she had managed to get through nearly five months so far. No, it hadn't been easy by any means. She had been very low on several occasions, low enough to take a blade to her skin, but for now, she seemed to have come through it and out the other side. It was mid afternoon when the phone call came, and she was driving along the M3. 

"Karen, it's George," Said the voice over the hands free phone, that voice she knew so well. "Hello," Karen replied, realising that she had barely spoken to anyone all day. "How was your Christmas?" "Oh, all right," George said a little distractedly. "I saw Charlie, I saw Daddy, and I spent last night with Jo and John." "That sounds good," Karen said with a smile. "It was," George replied with a slight smirk in her voice. "John dug out the silk scarves without telling me beforehand." "Lucky John," Karen said with a laugh, George's references to the three of them no longer painful to her. "Darling, are you in the car?" George asked, wondering where on earth Karen had been. "I tried to get you at home but there was no answer." "Yes," Karen replied succinctly. "I've been to the place where I scattered Ross's ashes. It was just something I needed to do today." "Are you all right?" George asked in concern, wishing that Karen hadn't chosen to go there alone. "Yes, as odd as it sounds, I'm okay," Karen told her. "You'll think me a complete loony, but I asked him if he was happy." "I take it you didn't get an answer?" George asked with a smile. "I'd know that I'd really lost it if I had," Karen replied. "Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure?" "Oh, I just wanted a chat, that's all," George said evasively, the weight of her discovery pressing down on her like a twenty-pound necklace. But as they talked some more, Karen couldn't help but think that George was keeping something from her, something that was clearly worrying her but which she couldn't talk about. George on the other hand knew that she should tell someone, anyone about what she'd found, and she also knew that Karen would be better than anyone, but the words simply refused to come. Give it some time, she told herself, let it settle in before confiding in anyone else. 


	66. Chapter 66

Part Sixty-Six

Wednesday February 1st 2006 seemed a long time since Christmas, at Larkhall and everywhere else on earth. It was the time of the year where only grim perseverance enabled humanity as a whole to get through to brighter summer times. It was this prospect of hope that Barbara was most hard put to sustain as the seasons and the timings of the machinery of justice threatened to drag her down. The Christmas tree had been removed and so had the tinsel and grey skies swirled low over the tops of the prison complex and intermittent rain beat down on it. It made her increasingly reluctant to come out of her cell when she didn't have to.

It was something that was not lost on those who cared for her. They all hovered around as the days passed but felt helpless to talk to her.  
"Nikki, we wanted to have a quick word with you about Babs. We're dead worried about her being so near to the trial"  
"You and me both……..and Denny and Karen as well for sure." Nikki admitted frankly as they spoke in a corner of the canteen. The names fell out of her mind in no particular order no matter their respective positions in the prison system. It was stating the obvious to say that they all felt the same but the Julies crystallized into words the thoughts that had whirled around at the back of Nikki's mind. With a trial date set for Monday February 6th 2006, she dared not think of the possibility that Barbara might not get her freedom at the end of it.  
"What can we do to help her?" they chorused. "I don't know. Any one of us could talk to her but I don't know what good it would do her….we're all held back because we've been there before and we know how it feels….let me think"  
The Julies kept quiet as they knew full well that Nikki worked best when she was left to herself to think the matter through. Then a light dawned across her face much to the Julies' relief.  
"I've got it. I think that Yvonne's coming to visit her this Saturday but I need to check up and make sure I'm right"  
"You'll let us know for sure, Nikki"  
"Give me ten minutes and I'll come and tell you." Nikki said firmly. The Julies cheered up slightly at her words. There was a difference between five isolated individuals worrying alone and talking with each other and getting Yvonne on the case. 

One look at Barbara and Yvonne was immediately concerned for her. She could sense the dark circles of worry under her eyes and the tension that was rising off her in the noisy cluttered echoing space that was the visitor's room.

"If there's anything we can do for you, Barbara, just let me know"  
"I'm perfectly well aware of what you can and can't do for me. I should know by well from all the time I've ever spent here." Snapped Barbara at the well-meaning Dominic. He glanced sideways at Yvonne to ask for her help before making a tactful retreat back to his desk.

"I can tell that you're wound up but don't worry, Babs, everything will work out in the end." Yvonne said with all the warmth and reassurance that she could conjure up.  
"'It's all very well you saying 'don't worry, but you know very well that it's one thing to know you're not guilty and quite another matter when you're in the dock. My own past experience hasn't given me a lot of faith in British justice"  
The choice of words and the bitterness with which she had expressed them were like an arrow to Yvonne's large heart. She knew that she had fared better than Dominic's more circumspect attempt to help, as Barbara knew full well that Yvonne had shared her experience three times over, her own experience and, in differing ways, for Lauren and for Ritchie. Yvonne knew that it was fruitless for her to mention this to Barbara as such comparisons, though well meant and the truth, wasn't going to help.

"Ah, that's because you hadn't exactly had the backup that you've got going for you now. Last time, you were up against those stepchildren"  
"Pooh, don't remind me of them." Interrupted Barbara testily." I bet they'll be queuing up to get a ringside seat in the gallery. They're all I need right now"  
"Relax, Babs. All they can do is to glare at you from the sidelines. They can't do any damage"  
"…….how do I know they won't be called as witnesses." Barbara interrupted.  
"How can they?" Yvonne reasoned with her.  
"Are you some kind of legal expert"  
"Of course I'm not, Babs. The way I remember it, they were witnesses last time because they knew how Peter's will was made up and they were snooping around all the time he was poorly. But we're talking about Henry. They didn't know him from Adam or anything about him. They haven't seen you in five years give or take a bit except for that time you gave one of them a cracker of a slap across the face right here. I was very impressed with the style of it, professionally speaking, though I say it myself." The faintest smile flickered across Barbara's face and then it was gone but Yvonne knew that some contact had been made.  
"Look, Babs, I'm going to a case conference tonight with George and Jo, Nikki and Helen, two top consultants and a top American pathologist." "A pity I won't be there." Came the dry response.  
"They'll all be there for you," emphasized Yvonne." That's a hell of a lot better than one of Charlie's dodgy briefs and the mob who were great at using brute force but not in the same league as the combined talent we've got"  
"I still think that I'll get sent down at the end of the day"  
"I don't get you, Babs. All the time I've ever known you, you've been the one who's been strong with your Christian faith while I've gone up and down depending on how I've felt and how good or bad my life's been going on, me and all my nearest and dearest. I ain't going to come on like some preaching vicar but you've just got to have faith. It ain't like you not to have faith"  
"What do you know about Christian faith?" Barbara queried in a slightly irritated fashion. Yvonne's constant repetition of the word, which encapsulated her whole belief system, was nagging away at her. Even at a moment like this, she could not be oblivious to her faith.  
"I know absolutely sod all but I know that you have to have faith in those who are working for you and for yourself. I know what lack of faith in myself can do to me. I've been there and you know it"  
Somehow the words sank in and Yvonne could see the faintest light of hope in Barbara's eyes. She dared not hope too much and she knew that she had pushed the matter as far as she could. They chattered awhile on trivial matters but Yvonne's sharp eyes told her that Barbara was fractionally closer to her old self. Yvonne breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that the case conference would live up to her gut instinct and whatever brains she was given.

At night when Barbara went to bed while others debated her destiny, a prayer popped into her mind that she first heard as a child. She kneeled on the bare floor while she mouthed the following words and prayed for the strength to face this next life's challenge.

"Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul does keep And, if I die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take."

Instantly, they triggered a further memory. Crystal had told her of that simple heartfelt prayer that another Zandra, Zandra Plackett, had recited just before she had died. Zandra had everything to live for but a brain tumour had taken her life away from her as did lung cancer did for Henry. Both of them would gently reproach Barbara for giving way to despair for both of them had to deal with the dying while all Barbara had to do was to deal with the living. It made her feel ashamed but, yes God would forgive her and she had time to make amends in apologizing to those she had pushed away and to face the trial with as much spirit as she could summon up. It was not beyond her, she muttered to herself while her finger traced out the shape of the cross. She could do more than utter these words. It came down to faith, the point where she had started out in her life. 


	67. Chapter 67

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Sixty Seven

As Dr. Kay Scarpetta moved around her Richmond Virginia home, packing all the belongings she might need for her trip to the UK, Captain Pete Marino watched her stonily. He hated it whenever she went away from him, for work or for any other reason, though he was forced to admit that this time, it might not be such a bad thing. They were in the middle of a very dangerous case, and it wouldn't do the Doctor Lawyer Indian Chief any harm to get out of the limelight for a while. Bodies kept turning up, all women, and all women who looked like Scarpetta. They couldn't find any real pattern apart from this, and the fact that they kept turning up wherever Kay appeared to have been last. This meant anywhere from near to the FBI academy in Quantico, to the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta Georgia, or the FBI headquarters in Washington DC. So, all in all, Marino was quietly relieved that she was getting out of the country for a while. He didn't know what he would do if anything ever happened to her, and there had been numerous occasions when that fear had almost been realised. 

"Where're you gonna be staying over the next two weeks?" Marino asked as Kay began spreading the contents of her medical bag over the kitchen table, making sure she had everything it ought to contain. "I'm staying with one of the barristers presenting the case," She told him distractedly. "Why?" "Just wanna make sure you're safe, that's all." "Marino, I will be perfectly safe," She told him affectionately. "Why else would Senator Lord have got me permission to take my gun into the UK. I'm told someone owed him a favour." "Some favour," Marino commented dryly. "I ain't ever been to the UK, but I sure as hell know I wouldn't get permission to take my piece there." "You've never been to the UK?" Kay looked up at him in surprise. "Nope, not in all my sixty-two years have I been there. Hey, maybe you could take me there some day." "Maybe I will," Kay replied with a fond smile. 

After repacking the medical bag, Kay put a CD on the stereo. It was Vivaldi's Four Seasons, something which she found soothing as she prepared to leave her comfortably familiar home for a fortnight. Marino grimaced, classical music clearly not being his preferred form of listening. "Why do you like this stuff?" Marino asked, watching her as she began packing a scene case to take with her. "Because it's the kind of music that fills your soul with peace and energy." "What kind of oxymoron is that?" Marino said in disgust, clearly surprising her because she hadn't thought he would know a word like oxymoron. "Didn't think I'd know a word like that, did you," He said when she momentarily stared at him. "Yeah, well, maybe I've been listening to you all these years." "Marino, I'm delighted that you know a word like oxymoron," Kay told him, trying not to laugh. "And yes, peace and energy are two very different things. The music gives me energy because it's so vibrant, so full of passion and imagery. I suppose it also gives me a sense of peace, because of its fluidity, the way it conjures up visions of animals and birds, all living through the ebb and flow of each season of the year." She'd looked almost wistful as she'd said all this, making Marino smile fondly at her. "You're getting very poetic in your old age, Doc," He said, her words having flowed over him like honey. "Less of the old," Kay said miserably. "March the twenty-third is coming far too quickly this year." 

Leaving him sitting at the kitchen table drinking the coffee she'd made him, Kay went through to her bedroom, bringing her suitcase back into the lounge, leaving just another bag of essentials for the morning. Glancing through the lounge door at her, Marino saw that just for a moment, she was standing perfectly still, really taking in every note of the music. Moving quietly to join her, Marino simply watched the dreamy look on her face, making her features as soft and open as he had ever seen them. "This part is supposed to be summer," She told him quietly. "But it sounds more like autumn." She was right, Marino thought, as the cellos thundered away under the violas and violins, giving the impression of an approaching storm. "Doesn't it make you think of a large animal?" She asked him in ever so slight wonder. "A stag, or a wolf, something with thundering hooves, galloping through some great forest." "You'd play the violin if you were part of this lot, wouldn't you," Marino said, trying to visualise the prospect. "No, definitely not," she said without rancour. "The violin's too much in the limelight for my liking." "Doc, you've been in the limelight ever since I met you." "Which is precisely why I wouldn't do it for pleasure," She explained. "If I were to play any instrument, I think it would be the cello." "Now that just ain't natural," Marino said in total disgust. "What isn't?" "Women playing the cello, it ain't right." "Don't be ridiculous," Kay said with a laugh. "Women can play the cello with just as much dignity as men. The cello is so elegant, it's sound so rich and sexy, that it has far more soul to it than the violin any day." "If you say so," Marino said noncommittally, knowing neither one way nor the other. As the music moved into a furious tattoo of rhythm, illustrating the sudden august rain and any animal's rush for shelter, Kay absent mindedly began to conduct with her right hand, moving it fluidly between the beats. "That's really what you'd like to do, isn't it," Marino said knowingly. "To have all those players at your beck and call, kind of like the way you run your office." "Perhaps," Kay admitted not looking at him because she knew he was right. 

"How're you getting to New York tomorrow?" He asked a good while later, knowing that she was flying to England from JFK airport this time. "Lucy's coming to pick me up in the whirly bird," Kay told him as she prepared them some dinner. "She says her flying hands need some exercise, which probably means I'll get a lesson en route." "Want me to come along for the ride?" "You can if you like," Kay said noncommittally. "I just want to make sure you get on that plane without anyone putting in an appearance." "Marino, whoever this killer is, isn't going to confront me in broad daylight, especially not in the middle of a busy airport with you and Lucy covering my back." "And you will keep in touch while you're over there, won't you, just to let me know you're safe." "Yes, I will, I promise," Kay told him seriously, knowing just what he felt for her, and that it would finish him off altogether if anything happened to her. 


	68. Chapter 68

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Sixty-Eight

On the evening of Saturday February the fourth, George stood and surveyed her lounge. Yes, it was spotless, and yes, it did look ready for a case conference come dinner party. She hadn't cooked for ten people including herself for quite some time, but she knew she had risen to the challenge admirably. It had been virtually impossible to gather together all the witnesses and other people concerned with Barbara's case in one go, seeing as both Tom and Zubin were almost always in theatre, and Nikki and Thomas were submerged in their duties at Larkhall. It had originally been Jo's idea to have everyone round for dinner, and George had agreed immediately. They had also decided to have this unorthodox case conference on the evening that Kay was due to arrive so that she also could be included. Going upstairs, George made sure that everything was as it should be in the room she had allocated to Kay for the next fortnight. The double bed was made with fresh linen, and George had removed any of her own clothes that were taking up space in the wardrobe. The radiator was on, taking the edge off the icy February chill. This room looked out onto the back garden, though there was precious little to see at this time of year. It was also over the kitchen, and George breathed in the rising aroma of the beef roasting in the oven. As she heard the doorbell ring, signifying the arrival of either Jo or the first guest, George went back downstairs, fervently praying that tonight's mixture of people would gel as successfully as at all the other gatherings she had hosted in the past. 

Standing at the door, holding a bag containing several bottles of wine was Yvonne. Not seeing a car in the drive behind her, George assumed that Yvonne must have walked, her house only being two or three streets away. Yvonne followed her into the kitchen, where George put some of the wine she'd brought in the fridge. "So, who else is coming?" Yvonne asked when George had poured them both a drink. "Jo, obviously, Nikki and Helen, Karen, Thomas Waugh, Tom Campbell-Gore our resident heart surgeon, Kay Scarpetta and Zubin Khan our consultant anaesthetist. Zubin is picking Kay up from the airport." "Zubin Khan," Yvonne said meditatively. "He was the one whose prostitute I tracked down and had a nice little chat with, wasn't he." "Yes," George replied with a smile. "But try not to give him any reason to suspect you of doing anything of the sort. He's very touchy about that subject, so I'm praying that Brian Cantwell really doesn't bring it up in court, though without her to corroborate the allegation, he hasn't got much chance of making it stick." "I went to visit Barbara today," Yvonne said, lighting a cigarette and glancing casually around George's tastefully decorated lounge. "She was like a junky waiting for a fix, could hardly sit still and was snapping at everyone." "And she'll probably remain like that throughout the entire trial," George said sympathetically. "Having a defendant's life quite literally in your hands, it makes nearly everyone around you expect you to perform miracles out of thin air." "As long as you and Jo do your best for Barbara," Yvonne told her gently. "Which I know you will, that's all that matters." 

Jo arrived next, followed by Helen and Nikki, and then Karen followed closely by Thomas. George had put the roast potatoes in the oven, slightly basting the meat in all its richly flavoured juices. Tom arrived next, and sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the house. "Zubin and Kay not here yet?" He asked, not seeing Zubin's car in the drive. "No, not yet," George told him leading him into the lounge. "Her flight must be delayed or something." Introducing Tom to the assembled company, she asked him what he would like to drink. "An orange juice if you've got one," He said, making George feel momentarily guilty that everyone else was drinking alcohol. When she handed him the glass, she saw with a little relief that he'd got into conversation with Helen, and that she was explaining to him precisely who everyone was. 

When Kay and Zubin finally arrived, George was busy putting the Yorkshire puddings in the oven, and putting the vegetables onto boil, so she asked Jo to let them in. "Kay, this is Jo Mills," Zubin said when Jo opened the front door. "And Jo, this is Dr. Kay Scarpetta." "Pleased to finally meet you," Jo said with a smile. As Kay and Zubin moved into the hall, George emerged from the kitchen drying her hands on a tea towel. "Kay, good to see you," She said, holding out her hand. "How was your flight?" "Long and tiring," Kay replied with feeling. "Though the prospect of having dinner cooked for me is very much appreciated." "As long as you can handle the thought of a simultaneous case conference," George told her, leading the way up the stairs, carrying one of Kay's bags. "I've worked over lunch before now," Kay replied as she followed George up the stairs with the rest of her luggage. "So I guess that taking part in one over dinner isn't so far removed." As Kay put the rest of her belongings down on the floor by the bed, she took a look round the comfortable room. "Will this suffice for a fortnight?" George asked her with a smile. "Definitely, thank you," Kay told her. "The main bathroom is right next door, and as I have an en suite, you'll be the only one using it. I'll leave you to get sorted. Come down when you're ready." 

When they all eventually sat round George's dining table and she brought in the food with help from Jo, a very sincere comment came from Tom. "You can't beat a really juicy piece of Aberdeen Angus." When everyone had been served and the wine had been poured, Jo began, between bites of food, to explain their position. "For the first time since we began this case," She said, her gaze encompassing every person at the table. "We have all our witnesses in the one place. You are all aware of the salient facts of the case, and of the particular issues that each of you must focus on when on the stand. What I want to do tonight is to go through this all for one last time, so that you can all see how the different testimonies will interconnect. Well, that's the plan anyway." Jo paused to take a sip of wine. "Apart from what happened on the day Henry died," Nikki broke in. "What else are you going to be looking at with Barbara?" "As you know, Barbara kept a diary through the entirety of Henry's illness, so we've decided to use various extracts from her diary that show beyond the smallest of reasonable doubts, that no way was Barbara planning to kill her husband. In fact they show the exact opposite. She was dreading having to make that kind of decision, and she was extremely afraid of not being able to go through with what he might want her to do. Next to go on the stand is Kay, who will present various forms of photographic evidence to show that Barbara couldn't have been the one to give Henry that final injection." "I'm going to need a slide projector in court," Kay put in. "Will that be possible?" "No problem," George said, making a mental note to arrange it at the earliest opportunity. "Jo used a combination of an overhead projector and a chess board last year," Nikki said with a smile. "A chess board?" Tom queried with obvious interest. "More as an aid to memory than an exhibit," Jo told him with a smile. 

"Then we have Tom," George took over. "Primarily because when the prosecution is having its crack of the whip, they will be using another cardio thoracic surgeon to explain why Henry Mills could not possibly have died from natural causes, which still remains as a possibility if not a probability. As we do not have such a narrow minded approach to Barbara's case, Tom will be explaining just why death by natural causes still remains as a possible explanation." "But I thought that Kay could prove that Henry did give himself that last injection," Yvonne put in, clearly trying to understand. "I can prove that Barbara certainly didn't give him the injection," Kay explained to her. "And I can prove that the injection could only have been given by Henry Mills himself, but I cannot prove precisely what killed him. It could have been the overdose of morphine, it could also have been as a result of his body simply giving up, or a combination of the two. His cancer was so far advanced, that it really could have gone either way. I can make suggestions that are backed up by pathological evidence, but no more." 

"Then we have Zubin," George continued. "Who will do his best to establish both the state of play between Barbara and Henry in the last weeks of his life, and will give a direct account of the pain relief Henry was receiving, together with an estimation of how far the metabolites from the morphine may have collected within Henry's major organs. As the prosecution have not availed themselves of a pain relief expert, I am assuming that they don't have any alternative argument to offer." "Then we have Nikki as Barbara's character witness," Jo said, taking back the reins of the explanation. "And as Nikki has known Barbara for some years, she can give an accurate estimation of the likelihood of Barbara being indisputably innocent." "I shared a cell with Barbara for nine months, so there isn't much I don't know about her." The resulting slightly stunned silence that followed Nikki's assertion, seemed to thicken the atmosphere around them. Raising her eyes to heaven, George gave Nikki a look that quite clearly said, "I will kill you when the opportunity allows." "I thought that you were Barbara's Wing Governor," Zubin said carefully, putting down his knife and fork to look over at Nikki. "I am," She said simply, not really knowing how to explain this slight anomaly. "So," Tom said in dawning realisation. "You're that Nikki Wade." "The one and only," Nikki told him dryly, giving him a slight smile of thanks for saving her from no end of difficult explanations. 

"The last but certainly not least witness we have," continued Jo, wanting to move right away from this moment of awkwardness. "Is Thomas, who will present a psychiatric report on Barbara, which will hopefully establish her extreme desire to avoid ever having to go back to prison, including not being capable of killing her husband because of this." At this point, George, with help from Nikki, collected all the plates together and took them into the kitchen. "I'm sorry for being the world's most successful conversation stopper," Nikki said sheepishly. "But it just didn't occur to me that anyone wouldn't know." "Don't worry about it," George told her fondly. "I should have informed those of our witnesses who couldn't have known. I'm sorry that you were put in such a difficult position." "I've been in worse," Nikki said dryly. "Just make sure Yvonne doesn't get onto 'Babes Behind Bars.' Though who knows, I suppose it might always liven things up a bit." "After the trouble we had looking for Zubin's prostitute," George said quietly. "I don't want any mention of telephone sexlines." 

When they were all sitting in the lounge drinking coffee, George sank gratefully into a chair beside Tom, both of them not far from the piano. Lighting a cigarette, she took a long and satisfying drag. "You look as though you needed that," Tom commented dryly. "After cooking dinner for ten people, you're absolutely right," George told him with a tired smile. "How long have you been playing the piano?" He asked her. "Or is it simply there for the sake of ornament?" "I've been playing since I was a child, which is far too long ago for me to contemplate. I only usually play now when I'm either angry or miserable, and rarely when there is anyone in the vicinity to hear me." "I usually end up playing when I'm trying my damnedest to resist the urge to drink," Tom told her, thinking of the ornate baby grand in the large house he had inherited from his parents. "How do you do it, Tom?" George asked him, bringing his eyes back on her. "Do what?" "Get through an occasion such as this, without either drinking or smoking?" "I don't drink," He explained to her. "Because it would be catastrophic for me to even consider it, and I don't smoke, because I definitely know better. Tell me, do you have any idea what the insides of your lungs must look like?" "No," George told him firmly. "And I have no desire to find out." "Ask Kay," Tom said, clearly trying to goad her. "She sees the lungs of numerous smokers nearly every day of her working life." "And that isn't a thought I'm going to linger on," George said with a slight shudder. "Tell me about Yvonne Atkins," Tom invited without any warning. "Your question suggests that you already know a fair amount about her," George replied noncommittally. "I do read the newspapers, George," Tom informed her with a wry smile. "Wasn't her daughter on trial for killing a prison officer this time last year?" "Yes, she was, in January." "So why, just out of pure, uncomplicated interest, is Yvonne Atkins involved with this case?" "When Yvonne herself was in prison," George explained to him quietly. "She also became very close friends with Barbara. Yvonne is financing this case, which with mine and Jo's fees, and the fees and expenses of all our witnesses where applicable, is no small amount. I think it's Yvonne's way of trying to make up for some of the things her late husband managed to accomplish." 

A good while later when everybody had left, Kay asked George if she wanted any help with the washing up. "Luckily most of it can go in the dish-washer," George told her, so Kay stood in the kitchen doorway watching her stack the many dishes inside that most wonderful of all kitchen appliances. "You look a little shell-shocked," George commented, glancing over at her. "It's probably jet lag," Kay explained with a yawn. Then, returning them to the subject of Nikki that Jo had tactfully manoeuvred them all away from earlier, Kay said, "I hadn't realised that Nikki Wade was The Nikki Wade." "She's been in the job of Wing Governor for quite a while now," George filled in. "So it didn't seem important to tell any of you who didn't know." "She might not know it," Kay continued. "But her case was all over the American press as well as the British. It slightly amazed me just how many of tonight's gathering are or were connected with Larkhall prison." "Yes, I know what you mean," George said with a smile, as she switched on the dishwasher. "Yvonne was also an inmate there at one time." "I did wonder," Kay said thoughtfully. "Just the occasional thing she said to either Karen or Nikki." "Something I've learnt whilst working this case and being an onlooker in a previous trial, is that just because a person may have the label of ex-con attached to them in some way, doesn't mean that they are any less human. Perhaps you could call it part of my education in learning that nobody is either perfect or lives by the same rules as anyone else. Yvonne, Nikki, and even Barbara have taught me a lot one way and another." 


	69. Chapter 69

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Sixty-Nine

Sunday dawned dull and grey, with both occupants of the house sleeping till late in the morning. When George rose into consciousness, she felt thoroughly rested and content. She was as prepared for the upcoming trial as she possibly could be, and her relationship with John and Jo was still going strong. She tried to ignore the fact that she still hadn't done anything about the lump she had discovered on Boxing Day, and the niggling little qualm that she hadn't told anyone about it. But these were things that could be dealt with at a later date. She needed, in fact they all needed, to concentrate solely on Barbara's trial and nothing else. 

Going downstairs, George made herself a cup of tea, and as an afterthought also made one for Kay. As it was just after ten when she lightly tapped on Kay's door, she received a mumbled answer in reply. "I thought I'd bring you a cup of tea," George said quietly, moving towards the bedside table. "Thank you," Kay yawned. "What time is it?" "Just after ten," George told her. "I haven't slept this late in a long time," Kay said in surprise, dragging herself out of the warm nest of goose feather duvet. As George moved to put the cup down on the bedside table, Kay unthinkingly switched on the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow on the items beside it. As George's gaze fell on the Luger .38 staring up at her, her whole body froze with shock, leaving only her mouth in full working order. "Precisely what is that doing in my house?" Coming to full alertness, Kay glanced from the gun on the bedside table, to the look on George's face, and finally to the slightly shaking cup in her hand. "Why not put that down first?" Kay told her, thinking that this was something they really ought to have discussed before she arrived. Putting the cup down, George backed away and perched on the edge of the bed, wholly unable to take her eyes away from the gun. "It won't hurt you, you know," Kay told her gently. "Touch it," She encouraged. "It won't bite, I promise." Putting out a slightly nervous hand, George picked up the Luger. The butt of the gun fit snugly into the palm of her hand, and as she glanced down at its metallic markings, she wondered precisely what this weapon had been used for. "Has, erm, has this ever been used to kill someone?" She found herself asking. "Would it make any difference if it had?" Kay replied quietly. "No, I suppose not, seeing as I think I know you well enough to trust your judgment in bringing it here." "I used it to shoot Denesa Steiner," Kay said quietly. "However, what is important now, is that I do have permission to bring it over here. I wouldn't have made it through customs if I hadn't." "And just how did you manage to lay your hands on that?" "Senator Frank Lord, the Justice Senator, head of the Department of Justice, managed to secure me permission to be armed over here, as a result of the case my team and I are in the middle of back home. I've had a licence to carry a concealed weapon for years, and believe me, I've been taking it everywhere with me for the last few weeks, even to the bathroom." "Do you always sleep with it on the bedside table?" George asked, thinking that she knew nothing about living under constant pressure as Kay did. Kay smiled wryly. "I frequently sleep with it under my pillow. One of the first cases I had when I moved to Richmond, twenty-three years ago now was a serial strangler. I woke up one night to find him in my bedroom, not knowing whether or not he'd gotten to my ten-year-old niece who was sleeping down the hall. So yes, I do usually sleep with my gun somewhere nearby." "Kay, I'm sorry," George told her, replacing the gun back on the bedside table. "It just shocked me to see it, that's all. Though at some point later today, I wouldn't mind seeing the proof of your permission to be armed in this country." "Of course," Kay replied amicably. "I'd probably want to do the same if I was in your position." 

Later that afternoon, when Kay had unpacked all her belongings, she dug out the letter of permission from the department of justice, and took it downstairs for George to read. After taking in every word, George handed it thoughtfully back and said, "And I thought I had friends in high places." Kay smiled. "I've known Senator Frank Lord for years. We both grew up in the same part of Miami, though he is a few years older than me. He managed to obtain this for me because he said that someone owed him a favour. I dread to think what sort of favour it must have been for him to get me permission to bring my gun over here." "Is there really a possibility of you being in danger whilst you're over here?" George asked, though doubting it considerably. "One thing I have learnt in the many years I've been fighting crime," Kay said philosophically. "Is that anything's possible. The women who are currently being picked off one by one in America, all look as similar to me as possible, and all are found in places where I have recently been. So, you can see why I want to be a little careful at the moment." "Yes," George said ruefully, thinking this to be the understatement of the century. 

Not long afterward, the doorbell rang. When George answered it, she saw her daughter standing on the doorstep. "Charlie," She said with a welcoming smile. "This is a nice surprise." "Well, I've hardly seen you since Christmas, have I," Charlie said a little shame facedly, knowing only too well that she only sought out her mother's company when she wanted something. "We've all been very busy," George said, clearly excusing her. When they went into the lounge, George introduced her to Kay, and poured her a mug of coffee from the steaming pot on the coffee table. "How's work going?" George asked, as she and Charlie sat on the sofa. "Hectic," Charlie replied dismally. "What do you do?" Kay asked, sitting in the big armchair at right angles to the blazing log fire. "This is my first year as a junior barrister," Charlie told her. "Following in your mother's footsteps," Kay said with a smile. "More in her father's than mine," George said ruefully. "Though I don't think he spent his youth breaking the law, all in the name of animal rights." "He went on enough protests," Charlie said, ignoring her mother's dislike of her favourite pastime. "I just carried on the tradition, that's all." "Well, as long as you're not still doing it," George told her a little sternly. "Because it won't do much for your career if you're caught." Charlie bit back the urge to comment on her mother's utter devotion to her career at the expense of everything else, because of the presence of a stranger, but George could see it reflected in her eyes. 

"Have you met my dad?" Charlie asked Kay, wanting to get George off the topic of her imperfections. "No," Kay replied, sensing an undercurrent between Charlie and her mother. "He's the judge who'll be presiding over the trial that you've come over here for. Well, one of the judges anyway." "Oh, really," Kay said with interest. Then, looking at George, she added, "That must be difficult on occasions." "You could say that," George said with a rueful smile. "Dad once banged her up in a cell for contempt," Charlie told Kay with a wicked little smirk. "Oh dear," Kay replied, trying not to laugh. "Thank you, Charlie," George said, a slight flush staining her cheeks. "And it wasn't funny," She told Kay firmly. "Mum, even Granddad thought it was hilarious," Charlie reminded her. "Yes, I've no doubt," George said with a slight smile. "Now, did you come here for a reason, or are you simply bored?" "I wondered if I could borrow some money," Charlie said seriously. "Please, Mum, just till the end of the week." "Am I to assume that you're asking me because you can't ask your father?" George asked her knowingly. "Something like that," Charlie admitted sheepishly. "What have you been arguing about this time?" George asked resignedly, going into her office across the hall to find her purse. "The law," Charlie replied disgustedly. "What else?" "Will that do you?" George asked, returning and handing her daughter thirty pounds. "It's all the cash I have on me at the moment." "That's great, Mum, thanks," Charlie replied, pocketing it quickly. 

A little while later when Charlie had left, George returned to the lounge and lit a cigarette. "Forgive me for commenting on something that is absolutely none of my business," Kay said a little hesitantly. "But you look like you don't get on with your daughter all that well." "I don't," George said simply. "That's how it's always been. When John and I split up, Charlie was only six, and when he moved out, Charlie went with him. I've never been what you might call the archetypal mother, and Charlie's never quite forgiven me for it. I was only just twenty-four when I had her, and I wasn't anywhere near ready for all it entailed." "In spite of that," Kay said gently. "I can tell that you've tried your best with her." George was about to respond, though with what reply she couldn't begin to imagine, when the phone rang. Gratefully getting up from the sofa to go and look for the cordless phone, she tried to resculpture her face back into the mask of indifference she usually wore. 

When she answered the phone, a clearly American, very unfamiliar female voice greeted her. "Please may I speak to Dr. Scarpetta?" "Yes, of course," George replied. "Who's calling, please?" "Her niece, Lucy Farinelli." Going back into the lounge and handing Kay the phone, George said, "It's your niece for you." "Lucy," Kay said, a wide, soul deep smile spreading over her face. "This is a nice surprise." "Just thought I'd make sure you got there safely," Lucy told her. "How's the jet lag?" "The jet lag is virtually nonexistent, thank god," Kay told her. "Did you get the whirly bird back to New Jersey in one piece?" "Of course I did," Lucy replied, resigned to her aunt's concern about her flying. "Marino said that he'd take a real plane back to Richmond from LaGuardia, damned cheek." Kay laughed. "How is he?" She asked, always having a fond need to check up on him. "Oh, he's fine, though my guess is that he'll be back up here some time today, with Benton." These last few words were uttered with a very guarded seriousness. "Why, what's happened?" Kay asked, though the chill that crept up her spine told her precisely what before Lucy could say it. "We've got another body," Lucy told her. "It was found last night, looks just like you, even with the same tone of ash blonde hair, or so I'm told. It's a woman in her late forties, and she was found in the car park at JFK airport, which is guess what, precisely where you were last." "Oh, god," Kay said quietly. "That's the fifth now, and we're still no further on in finding anything out about who's doing it." "Marino phoned me," Lucy told her. "And told me to ring and check up on you, seeing as he'll be travelling for most of today getting back up here." "Well, I'm perfectly safe tell him, and I even managed to get through customs with my .38 intact, but yes, before you say it, I will be careful, I promise." 

When she'd finished her conversation to Lucy, she gazed into the fire, a whole host of thoughts whizzing around her brain. "That didn't sound like good news," George said quietly. "It almost never is," Kay told her dully. "But that's the price you pay for everyone who means something to you working in law enforcement." "What does Lucy do?" George asked, wondering at this sudden exchange of information on daughters, or the equivalent of daughters. "Lucy was an FBI agent, until they decided that they didn't want someone who actively participated in a lesbian relationship." "Ouch," George said sympathetically. "Then she moved to ATF, the bureau for Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. Then, when she got mixed up in a very bad take down in Miami, they were going to put her on admin leave, which is the equivalent to someone being suspended. So, she quit, and with a friend who had also worked for ATF as the head of fire investigation, she set up an investigative agency, which they call The Last Precinct. Where do you go when there's nowhere left to go? If you want the answer to a problem that the usual channels can't find out, you go to The Last Precinct. The FBI have been closely guarding their territory on this current case, but I suspect Lucy and her partner Teun will have more success. They usually do." "She sounds like a niece to be extremely proud of," George said with a wistful glimmer of envy in her face. "Oh, she is," Kay, said fondly. "But that doesn't prevent me from worrying about her nearly every minute of every day. My sister Dorothy, Lucy's mother, has never wanted to be part of Lucy's world, to understand why she does the things she does on a daily basis. Marino often tells me that it was me who brought Lucy up and not Dorothy, and in some respects he's probably right, but I would have done anything to stop her from going into law enforcement. I wasn't the only surrogate parent Lucy had along the way, because Marino did his fair share by first of all teaching her to drive his truck, and then by teaching her to shoot when she was seventeen, much to my temporary disgust." George smiled. "I don't think I've ever been able to teach Charlie anything," She said almost regretfully. "The only time she comes to me, is when she wants something that John won't give her, as you clearly saw." "As real parents or as stand-in parents," Kay said seriously. "All we can ever do is our best." 


	70. Chapter 70

Part Seventy

She would wake up early, muttered Barbara to herself when she woke and looked at her watch. It was six o'clock and total blackness looked outside her window. She had had a restless night and really needed all the sleep she could get for such a testing day. She had recovered her nerve to some extent but not enough to not fear the prospect of standing in the dock. It was freezing cold in her cell which made her try and huddle up and retain as much of her body heat as the thin prison blankets permitted while her thoughts flitted all over the place in an incoherent mush. Everywhere in the prison was as quiet as the grave at this hour, not the most fortunate expression but appropriate enough.

As time crawled onwards, Barbara realized that she was getting no more relaxation than if she were dressed so that she did just that. Pride within her made her dress immaculately and, as Dominic made the early morning call, Barbara was ready. She glanced at her latest volume of her diary but dared not write anything in it, right now but though it better to leave it for tonight, if she could face it. The slight advantage of being up early was that she was first in the queue for breakfast and the Julies smiled kindly at her.  
"Sausage and eggs, today, Babs"  
"Just one sausage, Julies please. I'm not very hungry today." Replied Barbara with a wan smile. She could not stomach the sort of generous portions that the Julies had in mind.  
"A cup of tea?" "I would love one." Barbara said with real feeling and a broader smile. A nice cup of tea was the one thing that Barbara found set her up for the day, even in the most trying moments. In that, she hadn't forgotten her Middle England roots.

After a slow and thoughtful breakfast, Nikki approached Barbara and addressed her in her soft sympathetic tones. "I wanted to tell you that Gina and Dominic are going to be your escorts today. I thought, first day on, you certainly could do with escorts who will look after you"  
"Thank you ever so much for your kindness, Nikki"  
"It's nothing,"Nikki said self deprecatingly and uncomfortably. "You did the same for me once." While Barbara's mind was vague and confused, Nikki remembered vividly how Barbara had looked after her at her first trial and was there for her. If only she could be with her, she sighed to herself. Reason told her that she had a wing to run so she had selected the two next best alternatives.

At another house, vengeful puritanical audience justice was taking shape in the forms of Greg and Amanda Hunt. They sat stiffly upright in their carved mahogany dining chairs and Amanda poured a cup of tea into the finest chinaware instead of the institutional prison mug. "It's fortunate that my partner will cover me so that we can witness the comeuppance of that gold digging ex stepmother. God has watched over her and will ensure that justice will be visited on her at last." He pronounced his cold piety in authoritative tones.  
"It will make up for the chunk of money she salted away before we secured it. It drives me mad the way our father worked so hard all his life to provide a roof over our head. Accidents don't happen twice no matter what she might try and say. It's only a pity that you couldn't give evidence as a character witness, Greg, from what we know about that woman." Amanda added venomously.  
"Come on, we'd better get going." Greg replied, looking precisely and officiously at his watch, as a man of business should. "We need to set off in precisely, eleven minutes."

As Barbara was driven to the entrance of the Old Bailey, Barbara dared not reflect on the fact that she had last seen the inside of the old Bailey from the visitor's gallery and her memory of the elegant flight of steps and the chequer board design black and white flagstones that led down from it. This time, her entrance was in a much more workmanlike part of the massive complex. She waited patiently while the security matters were completed and for Dominic and Gina to escort her into court at the appointed hour.

John and Monty had met up at the Old Bailey earlier than was their habit. They had punctiliously arranged for each other to have reasonable time to examine the trial papers and Monty had hospitably invited John to his own chambers. This was going to be a new experience for them however much they had talked in theory of Monty being 'the winger.' The practice was not new to either of them but in previous experiences, the 'winger' was clearly in the position of being more senior, more learned, the fount of wisdom. In this situation, both of them could not help but feel that the role of the 'the winger' was very problematical. The possibilities spanned the spectrum of the menial assistant functioning as a cardboard cut out on the one extreme or, on the other, the power behind the throne the occupant of which repeated the words whispered to him.  
"I don't mind admitting, John that this trial is making me damned nervous." Confided Monty who sipped his coffee the offer of which John had politely declined.  
"Is it the prospect of trying Barbara Mills or is it the two of us trying the case together?" John politely enquired with raised eyebrow.  
"Both, John. I'm glad that you have come to the point so quickly"  
"I feel pretty well the same as you, Monty." John confessed.  
"You do?" asked Monty in amazement. While he was conscious that the anger that periodically boiled up inside him could be the reaction to nerves, he had always thought that John was positively Buddha like in his serenity unless his passions were inflamed.  
"You don't believe me? Well, let it pass. As to the second, it is easily dealt with in theory. We sink or swim together and I will do my utmost to allow you the space that you are entitled to and work with you. It will be a new experience but I'm prepared to learn as we go along. As for the first, we must put our faith in fortune or whatever we believe in to give us the wisdom….and now, shall we refresh our memories by having a last look at the papers, Monty"  
Monty was touched by John's civility and sensitivity, which cleared his thoughts and calmed him down. Their robes of office were hung up, ready for them to assume their respective judicial personas.

In another part of the court, Yvonne and Roisin trod the flagstones of the building whose grip on their consciousnesses was assuming the grip and intensity of Larkhall. Once they were swallowed up in the huge bowels of the Old Bailey, it claimed them for its own. They were on the lookout for Jo and George amidst the scurrying figures of witnesses, barristers and solicitors criss-crossing through the ancient foyer until George's sharp eyes and the wave of her hand attracted Yvonne's attention. Yvonne's face split into a broad grin and Jo led the way to a convenient side room.  
"I ought to have asked you before but, just out of interest like, which bastard are you up against"  
"Brian Cantwell." commented George shortly. "From what I hear, he'll pick up a fat fee so that's salved his conscience. Still, we'll have fun with him"  
"I remember crossing swords with him at the time we were getting Merriman banged to rights." Yvonne said reminiscently." Jesus, that was a few years ago. Well, at least he's an honest bastard. If there's one thing I can't stand it's hypocrites who'll smile to your face and stab you in the back." At a moment like this Jo was getting into pre trial thinking mode, focusing her thoughts tightly as senior partner on the trial and nothing else. The memory of Yvonne's swift riposte made her smile at the way she had achieved the unusual feat of taking the wind out of Brian Cantwell's sails.  
"Getting to know all of us, Yvonne."Jo grinned.  
"Are you the only one who will be in the gallery? John will be so relieved," put in George "That reminds me, Roisin said she'll be coming now. She said she'd be here a bit late. I ought to be on the lookout for her"  
"What about those two creeps that give the judge a load of grief, you know, those clowns who haunt the place from the top row of the visitor's gallery?" Yvonne demanded.  
George grinned at that apt description. Since the temporary display of unity at the performance of "The Creation," they had reverted to type in their sniffish disapproval and, once news had got out that George had become close to Jo and were working on the case together, she expected to be tarred with the same brush as them in social gatherings. It amused George that her very aristocratic manners and opulent lifestyle would yet enable her to be bracketed with dangerous mavericks like Jo and John who were threatening the very fabric of society. "Sir Ian and Lawrence James are bound to be there, Yvonne. They have their orders."

Sir Ian and Lawrence James were nothing, if not predictable. By now, they were used to long hours sitting on hard painful benches in the course of duty but this trial was different from their vain attempts to browbeat, bully, patronize and persuade John to at least try and to be sound, remember the Old School Tie, now there's a good fellow. Curiously enough, that while such entreaties had succeeded with his brethren, John had always been singularly impervious. It wasn't as if he were some uncouth outsider, beyond the pale but while he could melt so easily into the cultish ways that their schooldays had first engendered, he had that perverse obstinate streak in him that his extreme maverick views only hardened. This time, Monty was with him and they felt constrained to hold a watching brief. To present an unusual twist to the situation was their acquaintance with the accused. In another area of life, past acquaintances could be dropped when convenient but the peculiar calling of fellow musicians made that more embarrassing. Sir Ian's emotional solution to these difficulties was to become more prickly with Lawrence James than normal and he, likewise with his subordinates, yet at the same time they were forced to occupy some dark corner of the foyer to deliberate and keep well out of the way.

Eventually, Roisin clattered her way across the flagstones to be hugged by Yvonne just in time as the court session was about to commence. The important players in the theatrical display funnelled into the entrance. George swept on ahead into the chamber next to Jo and she glanced at Brian Cantwell in a mocking way as if to say that "we can do better than you." From the back door to the court, John and Monty entered and were up on high, resplendent in crimson robes and took their places at the bench, John in the centre and Monty asymmetrically to the side. At that second, as Yvonne stared down from the visitor's gallery at the back she saw in a split second flash image not the august personage but a very different John immediately above her, naked and sexually ecstatic at the point of orgasm, incredibly capable in bed and with as much self possession there as in his throne.  
"Yvonne, take a look to the right. Who the hell are they?" Roisin whispered in Yvonne's ear. "Tell you later, Roisin." She whispered back out of the side of her mouth. With a shock, Yvonne concluded that they must be Babs's hated stepchildren Greg and Amanda Hunt. They must be, from that stony glare of disapproval downwards in Babs's general direction. Thank God that she can't see them and that she's got decent screws like Dominic and Gina to look after her was her first thankful thought. To counterpoint that was the reflection that they had better have learnt their lesson from Babs' right hander and the anonymous phone calls from Larkhall threatening violence and torture if they didn't let up on Babs. She had the sinking feeling that they hadn't and, in comparison, those two legal type creeps behind them weren't all bad. 

With a characteristic sound half way between a shuffle and a low rumble, everyone stood to their feet, unified in that gesture if totally splintered in their attitudes. The trial was about to commence. 


	71. Chapter 71

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Seventy-One

When everyone in court had regained their seats, John began to speak, instantly commanding attention from every corner of the courtroom. 

"I would like to say a few words about the conduct of this trial before we begin. As you will all observe, there are two judges presiding over this trial, where there would usually be one. Mr. Justice Everard, will be sitting as a winger, and is at liberty to ask any questions he wishes, as am I. Yet one more way in which this trial is a little different to many you have no doubt participated in, is that Mr. Justice Everard and myself, plus the three barristers sitting before me, have had a prior acquaintance with the defendant. If I observe any hint, of a personal vendetta from the prosecution, I will hold said counsel in contempt. Please take this as a very serious warning. I also do not expect any sparring between counsels that isn't directly related to the trial." He shot a very significant look in George's direction. "I would finally like to add, that if I hear so much as a whisper from the public gallery, I will ban the culprit for the rest of the trial. Now, Mr. Cantwell, perhaps you would like to begin." 

As Brian rose to his feet, George rolled her eyes at Jo. She knew that John's warning had been as much for her as for Brian. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," Brian began, turning to face the jury. "This case will make each and every one of you wonder what has become of basic human decency. Barbara Mills, the defendant you see before you, took the law into her own hands, whilst caring for her terminally ill husband. Henry Mills was a vicar, a loving husband, and a pillar of the local community. Barbara Mills, his second wife, killed him, because she couldn't cope with having a seriously ill man to care for. How callous you may think her, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, and how right you would be. Oh, she may believe that she ended his suffering, by injecting him with a lethal dose of Morphine, but whatever she may believe, and however she and her team may try to convince you, she ended her husband's life. I have no doubt that Mrs. Mills and Mrs. Channing will do their utmost to convince you that either Henry Mills killed himself, or that he died from natural causes, but the facts I shall lay before you will speak for themselves. First to take the stand, will be Professor Sam Ryan, who performed the initial postmortem on Henry Mills. Her evidence alone will tell you that it was Barbara Mills who injected her husband with Morphine. My second witness, Connie Beauchamp, is the cardio thoracic surgeon who attended to Henry Mills, and who decided, in her professional opinion, that the cancer was too far advanced for either surgery or chemotherapy to be considered viable options for success. She will take the stand, in order to explain to you that although Henry Mills' cancer was in the terminal stages of its progression, he could not have died from natural causes at that particular point in time. My third and final witness, is Sylvia Hollamby, a prison officer who has worked with Barbara Mills, and who will attempt to dispel any descriptions of law-abiding behaviour that the defence would have you believe. I beseech you, members of the jury, to listen to every fact that I and my witnesses will put before you, and to keep the thought in your minds that Barbara Mills is a killer, no more, no less." 

When he finally sat down, both Yvonne and Roisin had to fight the urge to shout Brian Cantwell out of court. The way he'd portrayed Barbara, he'd made her sound so different, so cold, so calculating. 


	72. Chapter 72

Part Seventy-Two

Jo had just the amount of self-control to scrawl phrases that her agile mind seized out of Brian Cantwell's opening address so that she could turn the tables on him. Her biro scrawled agitated, jagged shapes in the notepaper that she could just about read.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury."Jo commenced in a slightly husky tone. She jumped to her feet only seconds after Brian Cantwell had sat down with a self-satisfied smile on his face. As she started, she was conscious that the tensions of her emotions had the door forced half open to the world of Jo Mills, the barrister making her forensic opening gambit. "This case will turn to a large degree on what medical evidence will determine what is or what is not possible but it will also turn on the evidence from Barbara Mills and you, the jury, will have the opportunity to judge for yourself if she was capable of taking her husband's life in the circumstances described. It has been said that Henry Mills was a vicar, a loving husband, and a pillar of the local community. The point is that Barbara Mills, his loving wife is also a pillar of the community as you very well know." Jo forcefully remonstrated in a shaking voice, turning to glare at Brian Cantwell.  
"Mrs. Mills, you know very well that your task is to address the court in general and not personalize the trial on the prosecuting council however emotive the issue is." John's clear voice promptly cut across Jo's address.  
"Emotive. I'll show you what is emotive." Hissed Jo under her breath, turning her glare ninety degrees at John's stony, expressionless face. Tension whipped like electricity around the court and connected with far more of those in the court than was normal in court proceedings. Only Greg and Amanda Hunt were unmoved and scoffed under their breath while opposite extremes in sympathies such as Roisin on the one hand and Sir Ian on the other were conflicted while John and Monty felt uncomfortable being caught in the middle. "Take it easy, Jo. You'll do Barbara no good if you don't back off." Whispered George. "Excuse me. My Lords, while I drink a glass of water." Jo uttered words in choked tones. Her throat was dry and this gave her breathing space.  
"Take your time, Jo." John replied in easy tones while Monty looked on with respect at John's strict impartiality and what it cost emotionally to maintain it.  
" I apologise, My Lords. To continue, I shall ask Dr Kay Scarpetta, chief medical examiner for the State of Virginia to give detailed testimony to show that Barbara could not have been the one to give her husband the final injection. I shall call Tom Campbell-Gore, cardio thoracic consultant, who will testify that death by natural causes still remains a possible explanation. Professor Khan, consultant anesthetist, will testify as to Henry Mills pain relief management during the course of his illness. This cuts to the core of the trial as the prosecution's case is that this prescribed diamorphine was the cause of Henry Mill's death and that an overdose was not only administered by his wife but done so deliberately. In this context, I shall call Dr Thomas Waugh, psychiatrist attached to HMP Larkhall who will give evidence as to psychological makeup, which is, after all, a critical feature of this case. Finally, I shall ask the wing governor of Larkhall, Nikki Wade, to testify as to the defendant's abundant good character.  
In general, I shall attempt to show that Barbara Mills's character means that she would not have taken the life of her husband Henry Mills and medical evidence that she could not have taken his life either. In so doing, I am not excluding the possibility that the seriously ill man simply died of natural causes. Either explanation will serve to exonerate my client. I am also highly conscious that the jury will be faced by a large volume of medical evidence as the trial proceeds but it will be demonstrated that matters will be simplified, not complicated, as superficially attractive explanations of events can be eliminated. Finally, you will find that all the witnesses that I shall call will present the entire picture, of the case and of Barbara Mills herself and not what merely appears to be the most significant aspects of it."

Jo's last subtle jibe at Brian Cantwell's expense rounded out with a flourish her very low-key address and she resumed her place. It crossed her mind that she had made no public reference to George in her opening address but, if for no other reason, she was long accustomed to working solo. She realized that they would both be feeling their way and would have to trust to fortune. George was impressed by Jo's very rapid resumption of her grip on the proceedings and her workmanlike opening address. Now that she was not in the opposing bench, she could study Jo's manner and delivery in a more leisurely fashion.

"This seems to be a convenient time in the proceedings to adjourn for lunch. Court is closed till this afternoon." John intoned crisply and briefly and there was a rustling sound as people who had been in fixed positions were able to stretch their legs.

After taking case to ignore Barbara's stepchildren, Roisin's and Yvonne's feet took themselves automatically towards the pub that it only seemed yesterday that they went to during Lauren's trial. Jo and George left by the door to retire to a convenient chamber while Sir Ian and Lawrence James slid off like silent black shadows.  
It was left to John and Monty to leave the chamber last and close the door behind them and head towards the temporary serenity of the chambers. "I say, John. We are going to have a lot of each other's company during this trial and it promises to be rather testing. I was wondering if either you or I want the privacy of our own rooms in contemplation, we should feel free to say so. Otherwise, you are welcome to the hospitality of my chambers or yours if you prefer"  
"An excellent idea, Monty. Your chambers would be extremely welcoming"  
They paced silently to Monty's chambers and Monty asked John the question that had been nagging at him throughout the trial.  
"Have Ian and Lawrence James just chanced to sit in on this hearing of all ones to choose or do they come here often"  
John laughed heartily. He needed that.  
"A surprisingly high proportion of my trials are favoured by their public concern for my welfare, whether welcome or not. They even go so far as to tell me what verdict I should arrive at"  
"Good Lord, I didn't really appreciate this. That is an intolerable intrusion"  
"I suspect that they will keep their distance while you are on the bench with me. I can live with that. The real problem is the trial itself. I have the feeling that we shall need both of us to see the case through to a satisfactory conclusion."

Monty knew straightaway why John spoke of the trial in such a detached emotionless fashion. He needed this in order to cope. The room fell quiet in reflective silence as both of them contemplated nervously what the next two weeks had in store for them. 


	73. Chapter 73

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Seventy-Three

At the end of the lunchtime adjournment, Yvonne caught up with Jo and George as they grabbed a last minute cigarette on the front steps. "I see you've managed to stay quiet so far," George commented dryly, giving Yvonne a smile. "There's still time," Yvonne promised her lightly. "But it isn't me that you're likely to have a problem with," She added seriously. "What's happened?" Jo asked, thinking that they already had quite enough to get through without further complications. "You both know that Barbara was married to someone called Peter." This was a statement not a question, because Yvonne knew they were both aware of Barbara's previous marriages, both real and fictitious. "Well, the two little bastards sitting on the other side of the aisle to me and Roisin, are her two step-kids, Peter's children. Their names are Greg and Amanda Hunt, and they made Barbara's life hell when she was married to their father, as well as trying to get at her while she was inside. Barbara won't be able to see them from the dock, but I don't know how quiet they're planning to be." "John's warning was for everyone," Jo pointed out. "Not just a familiar select few." "And how much notice have I ever taken of it?" Yvonne said a little exasperatedly. "Absolutely none," George confirmed with a grin. "Exactly," Replied Yvonne. "Look, they hated Barbara, and they aren't likely to waste any opportunity to make things even more difficult for her. That other guy, the one who's acting for the prosecution..." "Brian Cantwell," Jo filled in for her. "...Yeah, does he know that this isn't Barbara's first time in the dock?" "Good question," George said approvingly. "But we've no way of knowing. Even if he does, he certainly can't reveal it. The jury aren't allowed to know things like that. They must judge the facts of this trial purely on their own merit, not with the added bonus of further information." "No, but he could get someone else to do it," Yvonne said with the weight of a falling bombshell. "That's what I'd do if I was in his position, get either her bastard step-children, or some witless cow like Sylvia Hollamby to let it out. The jury might be asked to disregard it, but that won't make them forget." "Yvonne, just how long have you been working for the legal profession?" George asked with a fond smile. "Too long for my own bleedin' good," Yvonne said ruefully. "Thank you for letting us know," Jo told her. "We wondered who they were." 

As the court reconvened after the lunchtime adjournment, George took a good look at the two people sitting across from Yvonne and Roisin in the public gallery. All their attention was focused on the trial, their faces pinched with an enormous amount of unresolved anger. They ought to keep an eye on those two, as they could pose a very serious risk to Barbara's eventual verdict. 

As Sam Ryan took the book in her right hand and proclaimed the oath, Brian Cantwell stepped forward. "Professor Ryan," He began in his most forthright of tones. "You were the pathologist to initially examine the Reverend Henry Mills. Correct?" "Yes," She answered him, her pretty, Irish lilt making John recognise her instantly as the woman who had testified at the Lauren Atkins trial. "And what were your initial findings as to his cause of death?" "As I explained in my report, I examined Henry Mills' body on the day after his death. He had been suffering from terminal lung cancer, and had been cared for at home by his wife, Barbara Mills. When I examined Henry Mills' body, I discovered the cancer to be extremely advanced. The metastases had built up on his lungs in such a way that he had clearly been finding it difficult to breathe in the last days if not weeks of his life. He had been prescribed the commonly used painkiller Diamorphine to combat the pain, and this had been administered also by his wife, who I assume had been taught to give an injection. The cancer had noticeably invaded other parts of Henry Mills' body, including his liver and his pancreas. As a result of how invasive and particularly brutal lung cancer can be, all of his major organs were in a serious state of either disease or partial shut down." 

"Now, Professor Ryan, perhaps you would explain to the court in what state you found Henry Mills' liver?" "When a person is taking Morphine in significant amounts over a prolonged period of time," Sam explained. "It has a tendency to build up in the body's major organs, such as the kidneys and the liver. This is almost certain to take place if the person in question is leading a sedentary lifestyle, such as lying in bed for long stretches of time as would be expected of a terminally ill patient. The metabolites of Morphine, that is what is left of the drug once it has been processed by the body, had built up significantly in Henry Mill's liver, to a point that would have severely impaired his liver function. Henry Mills' organs were slowing down every day, meaning that the body was unable to process chemicals at the normal rate." 

"Taking all this into consideration," John suddenly broke in. "Might this have meant that a recommended dose of Morphine could have been too high a dose for a man in his condition?" George was furious. Not even one day in and he was at it already. "My Lord," She said, swiftly rising to her feet. "Do you have an objection for me already, Ms Channing?" He asked her mildly. "Simply that if you would allow the defence to cross-examine Professor Ryan in the usual manner, you would be given the answers to your no doubt numerous questions in due course." "You are of course correct, Ms Channing," John replied, gesturing for her to regain her seat. "I am allowing my natural curiosity for the facts to outweigh the correct procedure. I'm sure the court will forgive me. Might I also take this opportunity, Professor Ryan, to say that I am delighted to see you in my court once again. Please continue." "Do you wish me to answer the question, My Lord?" Sam enquired sweetly. "If you wouldn't mind," John replied in his most cordial manner, making George's hackles rise with the warning of an approaching indiscretion. "You are correct, My Lord, in that the recommended and prescribed dose of Morphine that would have been given to Henry Mills, could easily have been too high for his liver to cope with, as a result of the build up of Morphine metabolites. This does not however mean that his death was caused by an accidental overdose." 

"And just how was his death caused?" Brian moved in on her again, wanting to regain the reins from this most irritating of judges. "There is no doubt that Henry Mills died from an overdose of Diamorphine," Sam replied without hesitation. "Though my findings indicate that this was definitely not as a result of an accident." "And precisely what do your findings indicate?" Brian asked her silkily, glancing smugly over at George who was taking almost as many notes as the court stenographer. "Henry Mills' usual doses of Morphine, were given via an intravenous canula and a syringe driver. When I examined his body, I discovered what was unmistakably an intra-muscular injection site on his right thigh. On further examination by a toxicologist, the muscle surrounding the injection site was found to contain a significant amount of Diamorphine. This indicated a separately given injection, one very different from the usual dose given via the syringe driver." "Given Henry Mills' general ill health," Brian continued. "Could he himself have injected the Morphine?" "No," Sam again said without any hint of hesitation. "He would not have had the strength required to obtain the syringe, fill it with Morphine, and inject himself, all without his wife being made aware of what he was doing." "We can therefore only assume, ladies and gentlemen," Brian said smugly, looking over at the members of the jury. "That it was Barbara Mills, his loving and caring wife, who administered this fatal dose of such a lethal drug." 

"Is that all, Mr. Cantwell?" John asked in slight surprise. "Succinct and to the point, My Lord," He replied with a sardonic smile. "I thought that was how you liked your barristers." John laughed. "Only when they adequately do their job, Mr. Cantwell, only then I assure you. Now, as I suspect the defence will go on at length with their cross-examination, as they quite rightly should," He added at a stony-faced look from George. "We will adjourn until tomorrow morning." As he rose and left through the door behind the judge's bench, Brian openly turned and smirked at Jo and George. "Oh, you may think it's one nil to you at the moment," George assured him sweetly. "But I can promise you that it'll be two one to us by the end of tomorrow." "We all need some form of false security, Mrs. Channing," Brian replied as he swept towards the door. "Yes, the difference being that you already think you've got it," George called smartly after him. 

When everyone had left, including the occupants of the public gallery, George turned and looked at Jo. Her face was closed, shuttered, as though she couldn't bear to share the thoughts that were going on inside her head. "Are you all right?" George asked her, gently touching her hand. Trying to rouse herself, seeming to come back to full awareness, Jo looked softly back at her. "I'm fine," She said, though it didn't sound remotely convincing. "And I'm still nineteen," George replied drolly. "Start talking to me." "Do you really think she's innocent?" Jo asked, astonishing George entirely. "Barbara? Yes, of course I do," George insisted vehemently. "Jo, this really isn't the time to start having doubts." "I know," Jo said regretfully. "And I don't want to have them, believe me. But when Professor Ryan sounded so certain, I couldn't help wondering. She did it once, remember, and it wouldn't be such a stretch of the imagination to think she might have done it again, because I can assure you, I know just what she would have been going through." "This isn't really about Barbara, is it?" George asked in realisation. "This is about you, and you wondering if you could have done what Barbara is accused of doing." "Well, the thought is somewhat unavoidable," Jo said dryly. "I knew you would do this," George said exasperatedly. "I knew this would happen. Jo, this is precisely why I wanted you to have absolutely nothing to do with this case, because I didn't want you to reopen old wounds at a time when they need to remain closed." "Don't you dare say I told you so," Jo said quietly but with a hint of anger. "Why?" George retorted immediately. "Because knowing that I was right about something would be just too much to bear, wouldn't it." "That isn't fair," Jo replied, her anger rising. "Jo, if you're questioning the validity of your own client's testimony at this early stage, then my concern is entirely justified," George replied tartly. "So, please go home, try to relax, and make your mind up as to whether or not you can continue to support your client." 

They'd been so completely submerged in their argument, that they had both utterly failed to notice John's stealthy entrance through the door they normally used. "Are you two arguing already, and the case only one day in?" They both looked over at him in guilty surprise. But when they both remained silent, neither of them willing to share the reason for their fraught words, he said, "Oh, dear, like that, is it?" "This slight disagreement is not for your consumption, My Lord," George replied firmly, giving him his title to further hammer home her assertion. "Oh, come on, it can't be that bad," He said, walking over and laying a hand on each of their shoulders. Taking Jo's hand in his left and George's in his right, he pulled them to their feet. "Now," He said, putting an arm around each of them. "Whatever it is, it ends, now, for your client's sake if nothing else." 


	74. Chapter 74

Part Seventy-Four 

During the journey home in the car, Barbara was sandwiched between Dominic and Gina in the back seat. She was pale and withdrawn and Dominic and Gina respected her silence, as they didn't feel over talkative themselves. They knew Barbara of old and knew that she was utterly incapable of hurting a fly, far less her husband. That she had eased her second husband, Peter, out of the extremity of his painful illness only made them more certain of Barbara's innocence as they knew that Barbara would never want to lose her freedom. The charges seemed so totally absurd that anyone could tell that a mile away but the cross examination had given them that cold feeling inside. What they knew to be the facts pointed one way but the proof in the opposite direction.

The two prison officers walked gently either side of Barbara and led her through the prison gates. Nikki was already there and, impulsively, she hugged Barbara and took her by the arm towards the scowling face, cold blue eyes and very so made up Natalie Buxton who couldn't resist making a crack as they came up level to her.

"I suppose I'd get tucked up into bed if I were up on trial, Miss Wade." "You'd get what you'd deserve, that I do promise you." cut back Nikki tersely. She was gratified to see the other woman's face slightly redden and to hear the Julies laugh at one of Nikki's immortal one liners. Natalie Buxton tossed her head in the air and slid off. Nikki smiled to herself that she had the luxury of choosing whether or not to verbally cut Natalie down to size or have her up before her on a Rule 43 charge. She was a nuisance at the most as her sources of information and the evidence of her own senses stopped the manipulative little madam from being the real menace to the good running of the wing. The time would come, she foresaw, that she would throw the book at her.

All this passed like a flash in her mind as she escorted Barbara to the Julies' tender care.  
"Hey Babs, how did you get on? Oh, it was like that, was it?" Julie Johnson added at the end, spotting the pained expression on Barbara's face.  
"I'll get you a nice cup of tea, Babs." Added Julie Johnson."Be back straightaway"  
"I'm not sure what to do right now, Barbara. I'd love to stay and talk but you might not be in the mood"  
"It's all right, Nikki, we'll look after her." Julie Saunders added with a reassuring smile at Nikki's genuine concern and her uncharacteristic nervousness.  
"I'll be around later on and tomorrow first thing. Gotta go." It was curious that she had adopted that parting expression that Helen used so often when she was a prisoner and Helen was the wing governor. She always felt a pang of regret and sorrow, which she couldn't put into words. Now she was doing the job, she understood that restlessness that, whatever she was doing, there were a thousand other jobs she needed to do. She would have liked to have gone off with the Julies to their cell like in the old days but she knew that it wasn't to be. In any case, she had to periodically remind herself that she could and should delegate jobs as it wasn't the case that there weren't willing volunteers to help her out.

In the evening, the Julies went to Barbara's cell and it wasn't until the cell door was shut that she poured out her heart. It was like a dam breaking.

"The worst part of today is that I know I'm innocent. I keep thinking again and again back to when Henry was at his worst, as he became weaker and weaker and I spent all day and into the night looking after him. It was horrible to see him gradually going downhill and that there was nothing I could do about it. I'd been through this before with Peter and I was so determined that this time my will and faith would somehow keep him alive. Well, I was in the dock and this afternoon, I heard that clever barrister of theirs question their pathologist and argue so cleverly that poor Henry could have died in no other way than that I had helped him on his way. What can I say against it, I had no witnesses. You don't think that way when you're on your own, you're desperate and run off your feet. I would never have done that to Henry"  
Barbara broke off as she dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes and tears coursed down her cheek.  
The Julies hugged her. It was the natural thing to do. They gave her time till she had cried out her fears and recovered herself a little that, with practiced timing, Julie Johnson spoke in a casual tone of voice.  
"What was that pathologist like?" "That made it worse. She wasn't some hard faced hatchet woman out to get me. She was nice, Irish, a little like Roisin in her manner. She believed in what she said"  
"That don't mean she was right"  
"It's one thing to know it, it's quite another to prove it. Right now, it's looking good for them"  
"Has Jo asked her questions and tried all the legal stuff on her"  
"That's not till tomorrow"  
"There you are. Problem solved. They ain't heard the other side of the story. You'll be all right." Julie Saunders answered her with all the warmth and powers of reassurance she could summon up.  
"You think so?" Barbara answered, her face brightening a little.  
"Course I do. I bet you, even as we speak, Jo is planning and scheming away at how to pull the rug out of her feet and prove she was wrong. Don't forget, we've seen her and she's one of the good ones and she cares." 


	75. Chapter 75

Part Seventy-Five

Jo's feet just about carried her back to her flat and she collapsed on her settee, her briefcase dropping heavily on the floor. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts and she felt exhausted. Normally she would settle down to a meal and, in her precise way, start organizing for the next day but she couldn't face it at that minute.  
Tonight, she poured herself a generous measure of scotch straight from the bottle and knocked it back. After all, she'd had a hard day and she deserved it. The idea was also that the drink would cheer herself up, make her view of the world look slightly more optimistic about things in general but it didn't have that much reaction. She really didn't feel like making any major decisions and took it easy for half an hour, as she desperately wanted to watch some mindless soap and to hell with the consequences. Time ticked on as the TV screen flickered and life's responsibilities freely assumed by her, began to intrude on her mind for admission and ran counter to her uncharacteristic lack of application and so get by with the minimum possible work. It began to make her vaguely resent that she had to buckle down to work. She didn't want to examine the facts of the matter and deduce beyond all reasonable doubt that this strange mood just wasn't like her. Her only part resolution of this dilemma was to take a leaf out of John's book and order a takeaway meal so that she didn't have to waste much physical effort. After consulting the yellow pages, she impulsively ordered a Chinese meal from the first choice read over to her by the heavily accented voice on the other end of the phone. It would be ready in half an hour and that sounded fine.

It was really not a practical idea to settle down to her case when she would be interrupted and so she carried on watching the programme. Time seemed to pass incredibly and tediously slowly while she waited and so Jo leafed her way through a carelessly discarded magazine and topped up her glass yet again as she tried to interest herself in some fashion or lifestyle advice. The trouble was that her own spirits couldn't be inspired by these trivial pathetic articles. Everything around her felt flat and drab, as much as the soap had been. She was on her own when the potential freedom of two sons who were going their own ways in life ought to have been the answers to her dreams when she was overworked, harassed and stretching her habit of multi tasking to elastic band snapping point. This was the payoff after all those years of solid drudge. So why was she vaguely discontented and unhappy with her lot? Even the alcohol wasn't cheering her up, the way she had expected. She squinted at the level in the bottle as she realized that it had gone down more than she had thought and she supposed that she ought to call at the off licence soon and replenish it.

At last there was the ring on the bell and the packaged meal appeared before her and it surprised her. She fumbled at her purse and paid the man. When she opened the paper bags, the smell of the sweet and sour sauce made her feel distinctly queasy. It was not as she had imagined it to be and, so far from conveying images of exotic China, was just another anonymous concoction from the takeaway food industry. It surprised her that John, an unashamed snob in certain areas, could indulge in something as unappetizing and aesthetically drab and uninspiring and she popped it down on the kitchen work surface and sat back in her chair and meditated awhile.

While she was immersed in a morose and negative mood, the memories of the day suddenly came back to haunt her and the trusting expression on Barbara's eyes that she had seen so often on her visits to Larkhall came back to haunt her. Why must she be expected to be Superwoman, the one who produces miracles every time? She never felt less miraculous in her life, just a middle aged woman on whom the cracks were beginning to show in any idea of physical perfection in just the same way that surge of emotion and sheer hatred overwhelmed her in court and caused her to lash out at him. She felt humiliated that John had had to rein her in and even George's anxious voice, pulling at her sleeve, reminded her how she fell short of that self image in her mind. A pretty show she must have displayed to all and sundry, she reproached herself, her vision becoming blurred. That temper at herself suddenly wavered, poised in hesitation and drove her to cast that disgusting meal aside and tip it into the waste bin and to scramble for her papers. She really wondered if she needed reading glasses but, desperately, she tried to drive herself in a sudden burst of energy to get her preparation done in ways that occasionally, she had had to pull out her case from sheer inspiration. The only problem was that her reasoning processes were sluggish, dragging her will back and the room started to slowly spin round. One fleeting moment of clarity told her that it was late and she had let time slip unaccountably through her hands. It felt as if she had let down her own late husband in failing to care for him as she had once been in Barbara's position in looking after a terminally ill husband. The only difference was that it was beyond doubt that he had died from natural causes and that she had started her affair with John after years of being instructed by him from afar as her tutor and contemplating that magnetic righteous personality. She swore under her breath, as she reached for her bottle again at her world, which had slid, out of her control……..

By contrast, Connie was just finishing working on a long shift at St Mary's Hospital and the last of the steely hard adrenaline control enabled her nimble fingers to wield her very sharp scalpel and precisely slice out the tumour of the patient she was operating on. Will was assisting her and, at moments like this, she could ignore the pervasive feelings of resentment that radiated from him as he was compelled to don his chilly official demeanour along with his gown. This was on a different level than her relationships with Zubin and Tom. They had come to a silent agreement that, while they were to be placed on the opposite sides in the forthcoming trial, it need not cause any tensions. They would disappear from St Mary's at different times, give their evidence and that would be that.  
"OK, that about finishes everything. Good team effort." Connie called out, bestowing praise impartially on all concerned. She ripped her mask off and headed to get scrubbed up and change into something more comfortable which, for Connie, meant a sleeveless top and a short skirt.

As she sat in her office, her computer screen flickering in front of her, her thoughts were drawn to the trial for the first time as a meaningful experience in which she was to play her part. Up till now, it had been confined to the paperwork of post mortems and medical reference books. She had talked to Brian Cantwell who had combed through her evidence in a somewhat lumbering pedestrian fashion that had slightly irritated her at the time. On more recent reflection, she realized that she ought to have been more understanding. With the best will in the world and their facility to trade in logic, non medicals were simply struggling with that extensive professional training that she had spent years in acquiring. When the patient was before her displaying a collection of particular symptoms, she could and did reel off the answers off the top of her head. It was beginning to dawn on her that she might need to make a real effort to translate her diagnosis into laymen terms. It was not in her nature to indulge in prolonged worrying about some new situation. She had acquired that measure of confidence that she could swiftly orientate herself as she saw the situation and her verbal fluency and quick wittedness would carry the day. She has refreshed her memory of her case and she remained not in the slightest doubt that Mrs. Mills had eased her husband out of a painful illness not only because of the judgment that she had made but because any alternative explanation was absurd or impossible or both. This was something that she was quite certain of.

All she needed to do now was to work out the logistics of her appearance in court. She clicked on her computer to search out the whereabouts of the Old Bailey, a building which belonged more to the territory of myth and old black and white films and it was easy to locate. After that, it was down to her to present herself in the foyer at the right place and time and take it from there. With a sigh of satisfaction, she laid that aside and clicked off her computer, ready to face a brand new day. 


	76. Chapter 76

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Seventy-Six

When George arrived at court on the Tuesday morning, after giving Kay a lift to work at St. Mary's, she went into the ladies' to touch up her make up. Already in there and standing at the sink, was Jo, holding a paper cup of something that fizzed. "Good morning," George said, giving Jo a smile and kissing her cheek, wanting to make up for the previous day's argument. "Is it?" Jo responded dully. Glancing into the cup, George asked, "Is that Alka-Seltzer?" "Yes," Jo told her simply. Looking deep into Jo's eyes, George saw nothing but tiredness and strain. "You look hung over," She finally acknowledged. "Would it be worth the effort to try and convince you otherwise?" "No," George assured her. "It wouldn't. Jo, getting drunk in the middle of a trial, that just isn't like you." Jo laughed mirthlessly. "That's all you know," She said, after which she took a swig of the dissolved Alka-Seltzer, making a face at the taste. "Are you fit to cross-examine Professor Ryan, and make her regret the day she did in fact become a professor?" "I will be," Jo half-heartedly assured her, not sounding at all convinced. 

However, when everyone gathered in court just before ten o'clock, Jo didn't look any healthier than before. Simply hoping that Jo would be up to the job, George didn't comment any further on Jo's appearance. When Sam again took the stand, Jo rose slowly to her feet, cleared her throat, and seemed to muster every scrap of energy she had left after the night before. 

"Professor Ryan," She began carefully, trying to lull her into a false sense of security. "Precisely how certain are you, that Henry Mills couldn't have injected himself with the Diamorphine?" Sam looked at her quizzically. "Given his assumed general state of incapacity, he was terminally ill don't forget, I very much doubt that he would have had the strength necessary to acquire the syringe full of Morphine." "Ah," Jo said with a sly smile, reminding both John and George of a vixen who had lured a rabbit into its lair. "But can you actually prove, that it wasn't Henry Mills who administered the injection?" "In my professional opinion..." Sam insisted, but George interrupted. "We didn't ask for your professional opinion, which I've no doubt is considerable," She pointed out acidly. "We asked for indisputable, irreversible proof." There was a long, awkward silence. "No," Sam said regretfully. "I can't prove with absolute certainty that Henry Mills didn't administer his own injection." Brian glared, George smirked, and Jo sat down, looking more ill than George had ever seen her. Realising that she would now have to take over, George rose hurriedly to her feet, picked up Jo's notes, though she barely glanced at them as she moved to cross-examine Sam. 

"Professor Ryan," George began silkily. "Allow me for one moment, to place a situation before you. Here we have Henry Mills, who was, as you pointed out, in the final stages of terminal lung cancer. He was naturally bedridden, and incapable of caring for himself, requiring the almost constant attention of his wife, Barbara. My client being the organised and practical person that she undoubtedly is, had obtained the knowledge necessary in order to operate her husband's syringe driver, so that she would be in a position to administer his medication at home. Also as a result of my client's wanting to be prepared for every eventuality, she had filled a new syringe in advance, ready to replace the used up Morphine in the syringe driver at the correct time. This, pre-filled syringe, was placed, just like every other before it, on the bedside table, next to the syringe driver, and therefore well within reach of Henry Mills' hand. Taking all these facts into consideration, what would you say is now your professional opinion?" The air positively hummed, every eye and ear awaiting Sam's response. "Taking all that into consideration," She said bleakly, realising that the prosecution clearly hadn't known as much as they'd thought they had. "Then yes, it might just have been possible for Henry Mills to inject himself, if the syringe was well within his reach." "So, I will ask you again," George continued mercilessly. "Can you prove that Henry Mills didn't kill himself?" "No, I can't," Sam replied dismally, seeing the case slipping away from the prosecution as though on skis. 

"Now, I would like you to enlighten the court, as to your opinion on quite a different possibility." George had begun to pace along the length of the silk's bench, lightly flicking the sheaf of Jo's notes against her thigh. "Considering that Henry Mills' cancer was so far advanced, could the cancer itself have been the actual cause of his death, and not the overdose of Morphine?" "I don't think so," Sam replied a little hesitantly. "Professor Ryan, are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure that this wasn't possible, or do you have even the slightest of doubts?" "With cancer as advanced as in the case of Henry Mills," Sam was forced to admit. "Anything is possible." "Please allow me to clarify this," George continued. "Are you in fact saying, that Henry Mills' cancer, could have been what killed him?" "As I said a moment ago, anything is possible." 

"Ms Channing," John interrupted when Sam had finished speaking. "Do you have to pace back and forth in front of me like a stalking cat?" "Just keeping myself slim and beautiful, My Lord," George quipped back, her continual movement allowing her mind free rein to thoroughly take this woman out. A chorus of laughter came from the public gallery, as well as a slightly pained smile from Jo. "Professor Ryan," George began again, moving gradually closer to the kill. "When your fingerprints expert examined the hypodermic syringe, presumed to have contained the Morphine with which Henry Mills was injected, what did he find?" "I believe he found only one set of fingerprints on the syringe, those of Henry Mills," Sam answered, knowing precisely what was coming. "And why did neither you, nor the prosecuting counsel for that matter, once allude to this during your original evidence?" "Would that not be a question more appropriate for prosecuting counsel to answer, Ms Channing?" John asked thoughtfully. "I don't especially care which one of them gives me an answer, My Lord," George told him sweetly. "As long as somebody does." "Would you care to enlighten us, Mr. Cantwell?" John asked him smoothly, knowing he wouldn't. "I think I shall leave that to the witness, My Lord," Brian answered evasively. "Very well," John replied a little exasperatedly. "Please continue, Professor Ryan." "I didn't allude to the issue of the fingerprints, because I was not invited to during yesterday afternoon's session," Sam told George, with just as much underlying bitterness covered by the sweet icing of professional etiquette. "And why, do you suppose, you were not invited to give an opinion on this during your examination yesterday?" George continued ruthlessly, not remotely willing to let this one go. "I suspect the result wouldn't have done the prosecution's case any favours," Sam said with a slight smile, realising that George had if not her, definitely Brian Cantwell over a barrel on this one. 

"Professor Ryan, please could you explain for the benefit of the jury, precisely what a syringe driver is and how it works?" "A syringe driver is an electric pump, roughly half the size of a lap top computer. It is connected to the patient via an intravenous canula, usually situated in a vein in either the hand or the elbow. The pump is programmed to administer a dose at specific intervals, as is the case with a drug such as Morphine, or it can drip other medications such as Heparin on a continuous flow." "Therefore, would it have been remotely possible for Henry Mills to administer the Morphine to himself via the syringe driver?" "Unless he had been specifically taught to use the syringe driver, as I am assuming Barbara Mills was, no, he would not have been able to do this." "Professor Ryan, if you had been in Henry Mills' position, needing to take that desperate step of overdosing on Diamorphine, precisely where would you have chosen to inject yourself with such a lethal drug?" "Given that Henry Mills would not have had the knowledge of how to disconnect the syringe driver from the intravenous canula, an intra-muscular injection in his thigh would have been the obvious choice." "Thank you for your time, Professor Ryan, I have no further questions for you." 

"Do you wish to come back, Mr. Cantwell?" John asked, thinking that George had managed to make her case already. "No, My Lord," Brian said dismally, fervently praying that Connie Beauchamp would have better luck that afternoon. "My Lord," George put in before John could continue. "I have a matter to discuss with you that should not be gone into before the jury." "Yes, I think I know what's coming, Ms Channing," John said resignedly. "Members of the jury, if you wouldn't mind." As they filed out, George glanced over at Jo. She was sitting with her chin resting on her hand, watching George with a mixture of relief, pride and slight astonishment. When she saw George looking over at her, she smiled. 

When the door had closed behind the retreating jury, George raised her point. "My Lord, I believe that there is no case to answer." "Don't be ridiculous," Brian commented none too quietly. "My Lord," George continued. "The evidence that Professor Ryan has given this morning was without doubt in favour of my client, no matter how much the prosecution wishes to deny it." "She has a point, Mr. Cantwell," John informed him. "Though I am loathed at this early stage to abandon the case, purely on the evidence of one witness." "But my Lord," George persisted. "Ms Channing, we will continue, this afternoon, and see what else the prosecution has to offer. Find as many holes in the evidence of the second witness as you have done this morning, and I may reconsider. Court is adjourned." Before either Brian or Jo could rise respectfully to their feet, he had left through the door behind the Judge's bench. "I think you lost that one, don't you, Brian?" George asked him sweetly. "You just wait till I get Connie Beauchamp on the stand," he promised her. "Then your client won't know what's hit her." "Oh, we know all about Connie Beauchamp," George said silkily. "She's got more skeletons in her cupboard than you could ever dream of." 


	77. Chapter 77

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Seventy-Seven

When everyone had left, George began gathering their papers together. "Well done," Jo said to her gratefully. "Oh, the pleasure was all mine, believe me," George replied with a broad smile. "You know, John once asked me why I'd gone into law, and gave me one of his holier than thou speeches about fighting for justice to be the finest of human aspirations. But I think this morning proves precisely why I followed in Daddy's footsteps. It's the fight I aspire to, the intellectual battle where everything can either be won or lost in a matter of words. That cut and thrust of wily human intellect, that's what gets me fired up, making me feel as though I can achieve anything if I try hard enough." "I'm sorry," Jo said regretfully, feeling as though she had betrayed the effort George had put into this case all along. "Darling," George told her gently. "I wish you'd talked to me, rather than drinking too much. If I'm honest, I didn't want you to take on this case in the first place, but that doesn't mean I won't be there to listen if you want me to be." "I know," Jo replied flatly, feeling as though all her mental energy had somehow seeped away. "What I suggest you do for today," George went on a little more firmly. "Is to go home, go to sleep, and come back tomorrow. Your current state isn't going to do this case any favours if any more attention is drawn to it, and it's not as if I can do any damage without you this afternoon. It's only Brian questioning Connie Beauchamp, and if there's anything to object to, believe me I'll be up on my feet before they know what's hit them." "I know you will," Jo said with a small smile, thinking that whilst she might previously have doubted George's ability to be part of this case, now she really couldn't do without her. 

When Jo had driven gratefully away in her car, George stood outside smoking a cigarette. When Yvonne and Roisin appeared, George briefly wondered what excuse she could give them for Jo's absence. "Was that Jo I saw driving away?" Yvonne asked, digging for her own nicotine fix. "Yes," George said after taking a drag. "She came into court with one of those twenty-four hour bugs this morning, so I've sent her home." Yvonne scrutinized her closely. "Yeah?" She said disbelievingly. "And I'm the Lord Chief Justice. What's really wrong with her?" Slightly astounded at how quickly Yvonne had managed to see through her, George hesitated. "Yvonne, I'm sure Jo would be here if she could be," Roisin said understandingly, seeing a clear conflict of interest in George's eyes. "Go and see her after court," George told Yvonne quietly. "And she might just tell you." "Okay," Yvonne agreed mildly. "And hey, you did brilliantly this morning." "Well, let's hope I can come up with the goods this afternoon." 

When John had been informed by Coope that George had sent Jo home, he asked to see her. "Without prosecuting counsel present?" Coope queried. "Yes," John said firmly, and when George was summoned immediately to his presence, she stood before him wondering what to tell him. "I suppose you're wondering why Jo isn't here," She said, wanting to get in first before he started asking awkward questions. "Yes," John replied mildly, seeing a look of worried concern in George's face. "Don't forget, I had Jo right in my line of vision for the entirety of this morning," He told her. "And if I didn't know better, I would say she looked hung over." "She was," George replied, slightly relieved that she didn't have to try and hide it from him. "Any special reason?" John enquired a little guardedly, remembering that other time when Jo had become incredibly drunk whilst at the digs. "I think this case is getting to her a little more than usual," George said evasively. "Already?" John said in slight alarm. "There's almost a fortnight to go yet." "I know," George said worriedly. "Which means that both of us are going to have to support her through every minute of it." 

When court reconvened that afternoon, and consultant cardio thoracic surgeon Connie Beauchamp moved to take the stand, both John and Monty suppressed a broad smirk of appreciation. From her short, black, curly hair, down her gloriously proportioned figure, to her endlessly long legs, she was perfect. Her eyes were the most intriguing shade of violet, not something either man had often seen. She was wearing a charcoal grey suit with a white silk blouse and the skirt midway between hip and knee. The clerk of the court was heard to stammer slightly as he invited her to take the oath. George scrutinized her from head to foot, and immediately took in the inner strength of this woman, telling her that Connie Beauchamp wasn't going to be something of a push over as Sam Ryan had been. Connie Beauchamp wouldn't go down without a fight, making sure along the way to take someone else down with her. 

"Mrs. Beauchamp," Brian began with extreme politeness ladening his tone. "Please would you explain to the court, precisely what medical condition you found Henry Mills to be in when you first examined him?" When Connie spoke, her deep, clear, highly cultured voice made every ear stand to full attention. "I first examined Henry Mills on the seventh of June last year, as he had been referred to me by his GP. Henry Mills presented with a severe cough, extreme lethargy and significant breathing difficulties after any form of mild exercise. I listened to his chest, and obtained x-rays and a CT scan." "Copies of which are in your bundle, My Lord," Brian interrupted. "Henry Mills had a malignant tumour on his right lung, which had rapidly spread to his lymph nodes and the chest wall. I performed a minor exploratory operation, to ascertain if there was any possibility of removing either the tumour or its secondary growths, but I found this to be a simple matter of open and close. The cancer had progressed to the ribs surrounding his pleural cavity, meaning that it was in the terminal stages of progression." 

"What were the treatment options that you considered were open to him?" "As I had ascertained during the exploratory operation, surgery wasn't a viable option for him. Also, as the cancer had already developed secondary tumours and attached itself to the skeleton and the lymph nodes, both chemotherapy and radiotherapy would not have reduced the tumours enough to make either of them worthwhile options. I am sorry to say that the only option left open to us, was to provide Henry Mills with palliative care and increasing levels of pain relief as time went by." "In your professional estimation, how long did Henry Mills have to live?" "With invasive forms of cancer, and especially lung cancer, there is no designated timeline for the individual concerned. If Henry Mills remained relatively inactive, his breathing was not yet impaired, and he was also not yet in any real pain. He didn't smoke and neither did his wife, and he didn't have any other major health problems to complicate things. I would have given Henry Mills roughly six months from the time of diagnosis." 

"Mrs. Beauchamp, in your dealings with Henry Mills, what did you perceive to be his general demeanour?" "He was quiet, polite, and somewhat philosophical with regards to his illness. He was clearly devoted to his wife," Connie said a little less clinically, the thought obviously coming straight from the heart. "He was more concerned about the difficulty she might have with caring for him at home, than he was about his own discomfort." Glancing over at the dock, John saw that there were tears running freely down Barbara's cheeks at Connie's words. "Mrs. Mills," John said to Barbara. "Would you like a moment to recover yourself? I appreciate that this is very painful for you." "No, thank you, My Lord," Barbara replied gratefully. "Mrs. Beauchamp," John said turning his gaze back on Connie. "Did Henry Mills express any opinion to you at the realisation that he was going to die?" "He said that it was God's will, My Lord," Connie told him a little bleakly. "And he pointed out to his wife that they still had some considerable time left together." 

"Mrs. Beauchamp," Brian once again took over. "How did Henry Mills act around his wife?" "As I have previously said, he clearly loved her, and I don't think there was anything he wouldn't have done for his wife. He was always polite to her, and she to him. If I hadn't known better, I suspect I would have regarded them as a couple who had been married for thirty years or more, not merely the two that they were together." "Did Henry Mills ever give you reason to consider that he might be about to take his own life?" "Certainly not," Connie replied firmly. "Whenever I talked to Henry Mills about his illness and what we could or more often could not do for him, his attitude was calm and practical, both accompanied by a philosophical acceptance that I wish I could see in all my patients." "Why so certain?" John put in without hesitation. "My Lord, at the start or at least the diagnosis of his illness, Henry Mills accepted that he was going to die, and all he appeared to want was to spend as much time with his wife as possible. I am not a fool," She stated firmly. "I know that the news that he was about to leave his wife prematurely shocked and upset him greatly, but he plainly accepted that his life was no longer in his own hands. Given how much he thought of his wife, and how he longed to spend every precious minute with her, I find it impossible to believe that Henry Mills would even have considered killing himself." Her violet eyes flashed at this assertion, briefly showing her inner anger that someone had forcefully taken this man's life. 

"Mrs. Beauchamp, what was your general impression of Barbara Mills?" "Reserved, polite, eager to do anything to help her husband," Connie replied thoughtfully, glancing over at where Barbara sat in between two prison officers. "Was she a loving wife?" Brian asked, also glancing over at the woman who had played the harpsichord only eight months ago. "Yes, I think so," Connie said a little uncertainly. "Though one can't always put an estimation on such things. One observation I can make is that they appeared to be a perfectly matched couple, entirely devoted to the continued care and happiness of the other, something I suppose we all aspire to." There was a short, emotionally charged silence after this softer response from Connie, making everyone who was there for Barbara, wonder why life had to be taken so prematurely. 

"Is it common, Mrs. Beauchamp, for husbands or wives to care for their terminally ill spouses at home?" "It isn't uncommon," Connie clarified for him. "It can depend on a number of factors: how easy or difficult the patient's pain management is; how capable and competent the caring spouse may be; and what other commitments such as children that the caring spouse may have to deal with. In a case such as Barbara and Henry Mills, it isn't unusual for a terminally ill patient to want to spend their last days or weeks at home, and for their spouse to be educated in the administering of pain relief and other types of medication." "Last of all, Mrs. Beauchamp, in your considered professional opinion, would you have expected Henry Mills to die when he did?" "No," Connie replied firmly, staring at the court stenographer until she'd written it down. "Henry Mills was lighter of spirit than many of my extremely healthy patients. He had roughly six months to live, and he knew what he wanted to do with that time. He had his wife, Barbara, to care for him, and his pain and other difficulties were being successfully managed at home, with regular visits to the hospital whilst he was able to make them, and visits from Professor Khan to his home when he couldn't. As far as his medical condition was concerned, Henry Mills was made as comfortable as was humanly possible. I do not accept the view that he killed himself, because in spite of his having terminal lung cancer, Henry Mills saw that he still had everything in the world to live for." 


	78. Chapter 78

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Seventy-Eight

Before going to see Barbara prior to Gina and Dominic taking her back to prison, George went into the ladies to run a brush through her hair, and generally tidy herself up. It had been quite a long day and she was pretty tired. The thought of having to talk to a bewildered and highly-strung Barbara didn't fill her with any enthusiasm. She stood in front of the mirror, and looked at her tired and strained face. It wasn't just the trial that was getting her down, she knew that, it was the continued awareness of the lump under her skin. It was six weeks on and she still hadn't done anything about it. It was getting bigger every time she examined it, and the fear of what that must mean was almost crippling her. Every opportunity she got she was touching it, seeing if by chance it had grown at all since the last time her fingers had come in contact with it. As she stood in front of the mirror, she slipped her right hand inside the cream blazer she was wearing, and felt yet again for the alien collection of cells under the skin of her left breast. She could feel the lump easily enough, even through the material of her blouse and bra, and it terrified her. 

As Connie walked out of the courtroom, she felt mentally exhausted. She had an evening theatre list ahead of her and a gruelling afternoon on the stand behind her. Brian Cantwell had asked her question after bloody question, showing her that his whole case pretty much depended on her evidence. The only cheerful point of this fairly dismal afternoon had been the Judge. His eyes had been on her throughout her testimony, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by her that they had mainly been centred on her long, shapely legs. 

When John had returned to his chambers, he had immediately said to Coope, "Please would you ask Mrs. Beauchamp to come up to see me?" "You want to see a prosecution witness, alone, in your chambers?" Coope asked disbelievingly. "Yes, I do. Is there a problem with that?" "Only that you know better than to do anything of the sort," Coope told him. "Coope, please just do it," John asked her quietly. "Let me worry about the consequences for a change." "That'll be the day," Coope commented dryly. "Then you can go home," John told her. "Too right I am if you're about to break one of the oldest rules in the book." 

Going downstairs with a rueful look on her face, Coope caught up with Connie as she walked towards the outside. "Mrs. Beauchamp," She called after her. When Connie turned round, she said, "Mr. Justice Deed would like to see you in chambers." "Would he now," Connie replied mildly. "Thank you for letting me know." When Coope had gone, Connie thought that the judge could certainly wait ten minutes while she redid her make up. Connie smirked as she walked towards the ladies', because she'd known that wearing a short skirt had definitely been a good idea. But the self-satisfied smile was wiped off her face when she pushed open the door, and beheld the counsel for the defence, standing in front of the mirror, clearly examining something under her clothing that quite evidently didn't please her. As Connie stealthily approached on quiet feet, she observed that what Ms Channing was touching was very likely a lump in her left breast. 

Suddenly sensing someone approaching her, George whipped her hand from inside her jacket, and turned a guilty face on her interruption. "Ms Channing," Connie said, fixing George with her penetrating gaze. "Mrs. Beauchamp," George replied, not knowing what else to say. "Forgive me," Connie said, knowing that she had to tread very carefully here. "But you looked to me, as though you were examining something you might have found, something that terrifies you." George's mouth opened and closed, as she struggled to find any remotely plausible response. Her eyes darted everywhere, as though looking for some kind of escape. "You've found a lump in your breast," Connie added, it being a statement not a question. "Yes," George said hesitantly. "May I?" Connie said, gesturing to George's open blazer. "Why not," George replied with a tight little smile. "I might entirely disagree with your testimony, but you are a surgeon after all." Connie smiled, seeing this as George's supreme effort to keep a brave face on things. Stepping forward with the caution she might adopt if approaching a horse that might be about to bolt, Connie slipped her hand inside the other woman's jacket. As her delicate, nimble fingers came into contact with the left side of George's breast, Connie immediately found what had George so frightened. "How long have you had this?" She asked, examining it as briefly as possible through the thin covering of blouse and bra. "I found it at Christmas," George told her, feeling a sort of surreal relief that someone finally knew, even if that person was part of the current opposition. "And has it grown in that time?" "Yes," George replied, feeling even more stupid than ever. "Have you sought medical attention for this?" "No, not yet." "Ms Channing, I doubt you need me to tell you how foolish such a lack of response is," Connie told her firmly, removing her hand from inside George's jacket. "The longer you allow it to grow, the more devastating the effects will be, I can assure you. I suspect you have found excuse after excuse to avoid getting this seen to, but you can't go on doing that for much longer." "I know," George replied, sounding utterly defeated. "Then please, at the earliest opportunity, take that lump of yours to someone who can do something about it." 

After redoing her make up, Connie walked up the stairs and down the long corridor. When she reached the door with John's name on it, she knocked. The voice that bade her to enter was deep, cultured and powerful. Walking into the room, Connie was pleasantly surprised at its decor. The comfortable sofa and armchairs, the numerous tomes of legal precedents, and the spacious mahogany desk gave an impression of a man who spent a considerable amount of time within these four walls. "Mrs. Beauchamp," John said, walking over to her. "Thank you for joining me." "Please call me Connie, My Lord," She said, seeing his politeness as the precursor to more intimate words. "John will suffice," He said, holding out his hand to shake hers. Connie's fingers were warm, light and long, the fingers of any surgeon or pianist. As their hands touched, they both could feel the crackle of sexual tension in the air, the rising up of something that had been forcefully buried in public all afternoon. "It isn't often," John said silkily. "That I am blessed with such an attractive witness in front of me all afternoon." "And it isn't often," Connie responded in the same vein. "That I am summoned to a judge's presence, as though I have committed an indiscretion which I must explain away. Tell me, is it your custom to allow your eyes to linger on the witness's legs for the entire time that she is speaking?" "It isn't as regular an occurrence as I would like it to be," He replied, his eyes caressing hers, their hands lingering far too long in each other's grasp. "So," Connie continued, moving ever so slightly closer to him. "Would My Lord be about to commit, what I believe in the legal profession would be a pretty severe breach of the rules?" "Would you have any objection if I were?" John countered back, his deep, silky tones sliding over her senses and raising her pulse in anticipation. "None whatsoever," She assured him, her voice reminding him of a purring cat about to get its cream. "Oh, that's good," John replied with a slightly predatory smirk. "However," Connie put in, her face now very close to his. "What makes My Lord so sure that he can live up to my more than exacting standards? Because I can assure you, several registrars and even the odd Professor have had significant difficulty in not reducing me to utter boredom inside thirty seconds." "Ah, well, I suspect I have had far greater practice at competing with such a rigorously maintained ability than your collection of registrars." As their lips finally met, Connie lightly fingered his braces. "Well, how quaint," She said between kisses. "Whereas that skirt is positively outrageous," John commented in return. They began feverishly removing each other's clothes as they moved haphazardly over towards the sofa, all the time exchanging the flirtatious banter that both of them had come to rely on over the years. 

As George talked to Barbara in the small holding cell, her thoughts kept drifting back to what Connie had said. She knew she ought to do something about her lump, because the longer she left it the more catastrophic its consequences would be. But the thought of what they might have to do to get rid of it truly terrified her. "George, are you all right?" Barbara asked in concern, seeing that something wholly unconnected with her case was weighing heavily on George's mind. "I'm sorry," George said, feeling utterly contrite. "I'm being extremely unprofessional, aren't I?" "George, this is me you're talking to," Barbara told her gently. "You're not just my barrister, you're a friend." George stared at her, seeing the kindly concern emanating from Barbara's deep, brown eyes. "I'm fine," George said quietly, though Barbara could see that she wasn't. 

As they lay afterwards, both breathing hard and lightly perspiring, John knew that he shouldn't have done this, not under any circumstances. "Did I live up to expectation?" he asked her, wanting to know out of sheer curiosity. "I should say so," Connie replied huskily, her head pillowed for the moment on his bare shoulder. "And you're absolutely right," John said thoughtfully. "I really shouldn't have done this. Sleeping with a witness is about as big a breech of the rules as you can get." "There's no point feeling guilty after the crime, My Lord," Connie purred, reaching up to kiss him. "Because unfounded remorse won't get you anywhere." "That a policy of yours is it?" John asked with a smile. "Quite so," Connie told him silkily. "Gathered from previous experience?" "In a manner of speaking." But before John could comment further, they both became aware of the approaching click-clack of a pair of high heels, which were to John, instantly recognisable. At the look of horror on his face, Connie only now began to wonder if either of them had locked the door before they began their acquaintance with each other's bodies. 

Knowing that most people had left for the day, George gave only a perfunctory knock before opening the door of John's chambers. She hadn't expected anyone to be with him. But when she strolled casually into the room, looking for nothing more complicated than a simple hug, what she saw made her mouth go dry and her brain to temporarily stop functioning. Lying on the sofa, clearly in post-orgasmic afterglow, were John, and Connie Beauchamp. Their clothes were littered all over the floor, as though instant gratification had been their only concern. Quietly closing the door behind her, she stood and regarded them with a certain level of detachment. She knew that the anger would come all too quickly, but for now, she simply wanted to observe the mental struggle that John was clearly experiencing. "George," Was all he could say, knowing that this was the most compromising position he had ever been caught in. Connie looked between them, at first only seeing the man she had just slept with, and the defence counsel who had a lump in her breast. But as her gaze lingered for a moment on George's face, she began to see an awful lot more. George Channing was this man's lover, plain and simple. "Well, well," She said, still lying in John's arms. "I do believe I've trodden on a few toes." This seemed to bring George out of her introspection. She laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Beauchamp, he's been doing this to me for more years than I care to remember. You're not the first, and you certainly won't be the last, so get used to the fact that he won't want to know anything about you in a day or two." Taking this as her cue to depart, Connie rose from the sofa and began putting on her clothes. But as John did the same, George's gaze lingered on Connie, taking in every inch of the woman with whom John had just had sex. "See something you like, Ms Channing?" Connie asked, taking note of George's detailed observation. "You never know, Mrs. Beauchamp, you never know," George responded tartly, her building rage making her voice sound almost cheerful. John winced. George surely didn't need to do that, did she?

When Connie had gone and John had regained his clothes, they simply stood and stared at each other. When John opened his mouth to at the very least apologise, George got there before him. "Don't you dare even think of apologising, because I don't want to hear it." Her tone was icy and bitter, just like the wind that was howling outside the windows. "Do you have any idea just how stupid that was? If that had been Ian Rochester instead of me, you'd be off this trial and out of this court before I could say impeachment. Barbara needs you on this trial, precisely because you can't be leaned on. Just because Monty is currently playing to your tune, does not give you the right to jeopardise Barbara's one real hope of justice. Further to our conversation at lunchtime, Jo also doesn't need for you to be risking being sent away from her, just because of a quick fuck in chambers. She is about as unstable as quick sand at the moment, and she needs you to be one hundred percent there for her, not screwing some long-legged surgeon who may as well have been a high class call girl." John didn't argue with any of her assessments of him, because he was forced to admit that she was right, on virtually every count. But when her tirade seemed to have ended for the moment, he asked, "Have you quite finished?" "I haven't even started," She hissed back at him. "But I am not currently in a frame of mind to give you what you really deserve." As he moved towards her, wanting to try and calm her down with a touch rather than words, she said, "Don't you come anywhere near me, because I can promise you, the way I feel at the moment, there wouldn't be anything left for even your doting clerk to mop up in the morning." 


	79. Chapter 79

Part Seventy-Nine 

Yvonne had sat impassively throughout the trial and her eyes had taken in every nuance of the behaviour of the chief players in the courtroom below her, while doing her best to ignore the solid wall of puritan disapproval from Barbara's one time stepchildren. She had gone into the witness gallery in something like the same mixture of keyed up anticipation and nervousness as to how the cards may fall. By now, she had had enough experience of trials to realize that the whole thing was an up and down experience, where intense excitement from a moment when a trial is going her way could so easily be followed by the feeling of a bucket of water thrown in her face from a sudden reversal. Nothing was so certain as unpredictability and she was as emotionally well prepared for what might befall her, her daughter or more precisely, her mate Babs. It was all the one and the same for her.

The opening exchanges had started according to a predictable pattern as Brian Cantwell had played the role of bastard to perfection. Yvonne had raised her eyebrows that fraction to see that Jo had hit back with such charged emotion but she had to hand it to her to see how deftly she had recovered her balance. It hadn't been until that pathologist had given her evidence for the prosecution that vague alarm bells had started to ring in her mind. Of course, it had been a shock to Yvonne to hear the apparently unbreakable chain of medical evidence had fastened the noose round Babs' neck but it was George, not Jo, who had jumped to her feet to protest. The next day Yvonne saw that, while George had slid into the cross-examination and had expertly demolished the evidence of the pathologist, Jo had remained seated and had exhibited all the telltale signs of being visibly hungover.

She had come to that resolution even before her exchange of words with George and drove away in a purposeful way. She did not bother to work out what she might say as she had no inhibitions in how she would handle the situation and that the words would form themselves.

"What a pleasant surprise," Jo had exclaimed as she opened the door, eyes blinking. Her smile was a little strained but Yvonne deduced that was because she was still recovering from the night before. "Mind if I come in, Jo"  
Yvonne noted that the curtains were drawn and the room was in darkness apart from a dim sidelight. Jo had clearly lain down on the sofa as a quilt had been carelessly discarded.  
"Certainly. I'm in the mood for some company and I've no work to catch up on for tomorrow"  
"Want a drink"  
"Better make it coffee. I'm driving and there's too many copper sniffing around these days. Don't want to chance my arm"  
Jo's smile widened in relief as she gestured Yvonne to a seat and popped into her kitchen to bring the very drink that she needed on her own account.

"As you can see, I've not been very well today and I considered that the best course of action was to go home, take it easy and get myself better so I'll be back on top tomorrow." Jo said crisply, to reassure herself as much as Yvonne that she was back to normal and so she would be, given a few hours.  
"What was the matter if you don't mind me asking"  
'Oh, some wretched flu bug. I've found that the run up to a long trial can take it out of me. I get over it soon enough"  
"Funnily enough, that's exactly what George told me." Yvonne said in her most innocently beguiling tones.  
"Oh really?" "The only thing is that I didn't believe her either"  
Jo's face flushed as she felt the full force of Yvonne's scrutiny but said nothing as shame sealed her lips.  
"Believe me, I can spot the signs of the morning after the night before quicker than I can spot a bent screw, Jo. I knew that George was covering for you for all the best reasons. I'm glad you're feeling better but I'm asking you what went down as I was dead worried about you"  
"Let's just say that perhaps I care too much about the case. It just got to me emotionally"  
"So that's why you went after Cantwell's scalp. And there I was with Roisin being as good as gold while you were really pushing it with Cantwell and the judge on the very first day. That was really bad"  
Jo could not help but grin at Yvonne's droll and very gentle description of the scene and the way she shook her head in mock disapproval. It made her start to feel better.  
"Babs's case comes too close to home, doesn't it"  
Jo nodded without speaking. She felt unable to elaborate. Very tactfully, Yvonne didn't pursue the matter as she knew enough to be going on with. "I ain't telling you to care less about Babs, Jo. I've lived too much of my life around some right bastards, Charlie and his mates to be exact. I owe you so much for looking after Lauren but there's ways of caring so you don't do yourself in over it"  
"I've got to be on top of this trial, Yvonne. That's my duty"  
"Jo, you've got George to do half the work. That's what I've paid you both for." Yvonne explained patiently. "I know you've got pride in what you do and you feel that you must hold up the universe by yourself but you must know that there are others there to help you. Don't block everything and everyone out. Believe me, it doesn't work"  
It was a revelation to Jo how incredibly tender Yvonne could be and, at that moment, she got to understand how strong for others she was and how well deserved her reputation was from Larkhall. Some of Jo's mental barriers began to come down and the world started to look less black and despairing. 

"If you don't mind, Monty, I wouldn't mind spending time in my chambers catching up on some private business"  
Monty raised his eyebrows in surprise as they paced the corridor behind the courtroom. He had thought that they ought to confer about the trial, which, from his perspective, was veering dangerously out of control. He could not help but accede to John's polite request but only with the very greatest reluctance.  
"Just as you say, John." He replied a little stiffly.  
"I am aware that the conduct of some of my trials tend towards the unconventional. I do intend to talk to you about the conduct of the trial but not quite yet"  
Monty nodded and slipped into his chamber.

Back in his room, John sat in an armchair, a curious half smile on his face, which could denote anything. The events of the day had been a very confusing and disturbing tangle, which it was extraordinarily difficult to make sense of and put in some kind of perspective.

It had all started innocently enough, he considered judiciously. He had seen Connie take the stand and both he and Monty in their considered opinion and as admirers of the female form decided that Connie's physical attractions were way in excess of what normally appeared before them. The exact process by which the trial had developed was not altogether clear but something seduced him into playing the art at which he was far too skilled of his smooth and silken voice coaxing a woman, equally skilled in the arts, into a sexual encounter in his chambers. Instantly, a tripwire in his mind pulled him up short. The words 'sexual encounter' was not the words he would have liked to describe God's most splendid free experiences that there is for the taking. The glowing promise of a Renoir portrait made flesh did not exactly fit the experience of being unclothed in a cheap undignified posture in front of George who had burst in and confronted him with anger and hurt. To be shouted at was not a new experience but to be caught in flagrente was unpleasantly new and was pulling on his trousers did not help his dignity.

What had taken him aback this time was that his normal mental processes by which he had put this unpleasantness behind him were simply not working. His memory worked by itself and out popped the voice of George who had scorched Connie with her fury of denunciation. Her words had echoed down the ages of his life and, curiously enough, he could hear Jo's voice take on the bottom harmony. 'You're not the first, and you certainly won't be the last, so get used to the fact that he won't want to know anything about you in a day or two.' He had to admit that there was justice in this remark as he suddenly stood up to pace round the chamber and find himself looking out of the window so that no one could see him. That was the way it had happened in the past but should it always happen in the future? Did he want it to be this way? Did he have any control over himself?  
As he questioned himself, his excellent memory pulled out for his attention his own self description and he knew that a very different tone of voice was about to take up the questioning, a woman's voice, a Scottish accent and two large bright piercing eyes and a very alert mind behind it, to probe his secrets. 'I am aware that some of my actions where women are concerned are thoroughly reprehensible.' Yes, he had said those very words to Helen and when asked to explain further, he had put it this way. . 'I have hurt Jo, and George, far more times than I could ever count. George to some extent managed to get used to it, but Jo never did. Every time I do it, it hurts her almost as much as if it were the first time it had happened. When I was married to George, she got into the habit of completely ignoring the fact that I was picking up other women on a regular basis. She knew I was doing it, but chose to act as though she didn't.' There it was, at that very minute when his best intentions were to reform himself, he had relapsed quickly into his old ways. The evidence was plain to see. 'You'd become hooked, just like any other addict. Guilt feeds on itself, Judge, so that the longer you feel it, the more deep-seated it becomes.' So what on earth was he to do about himself, he asked the heavens, casting his eyes heavenwards. Supposing for the sake of argument that he was addicted to sex, did that mean that no matter how hard he tried, he was doomed to failure?

'Do you have any idea just how stupid that was? If that had been Ian Rochester instead of me, you'd be off this trial and out of this court before I could say impeachment. Barbara needs you on this trial, precisely because you can't be leaned on'  
That brought him up short. He was used to there being disorder in his private life but he had always supposed that his public role would remain sacrosanct, that the ideals, which he sincerely and passionately believed him, would sustain his self belief and that certainty that he was doing the right thing. Other judges had fudged, compromised and sold themselves out for self-advancement. By some quirk of fate, he had managed to have it both ways, elevation to the position of high court judge and acting morally.It really brought it home to him that his private life could so easily have compromised his public actions.

He began to tentatively enquire by what process he had arrived at the illogical conclusion to invite Connie to his chamber. He knew very well that the very idea was injudicious as a generality but that he had bent that rule out of his whimsical idea to be different, not out of corrupt motives. The very fact that he had done so on this occasion was certainly foolish in the extreme but he could not work out why. As Helen's stare into his eyes prompted him, he began to examine his feelings more critically and could only conclude that an irresistible temptation had driven him onwards which Coope's silent disapproval had only intensified. Why this should be so, he could not understand any more than the foolish way that his door could so easily have been opened. He surely could not have wanted to have been discovered as that was totally illogical, self-destructive and the most sensible construction he could place on her actions was that he was so carried away by sexual arousal that every consideration of prudence was simply forgotten.

'Don't forget, I had Jo right in my line of vision for the entirety of this morning, and if I didn't know better, I would say she looked hung over.'

John suddenly heard his very words replayed in his mind a very short period of time before he had so fatally given way to temptation. It took him only a very short stretch of reasoning to deduce why Jo would react so emotionally to this trial and why she would have reached for the bottle. He knew that certain trials affected Jo emotionally more so than was good for her. That quality was very double edged. It gave her that power of conviction in her words that enabled her to be such a compellingly articulate barrister but it threatened to draw her in too deep, to threaten her objectivity. John knew very well that Jo identified so closely with Barbara, another woman who had tended a dying husband and there but for the Grace of God, she had not assisted her own dying husband out of this world. He felt this intense wave of sympathy for Jo at this moment at what she would be going through and George's reply was so apt. 'Which means that both of us are going to have to support her through every minute of it.' It was then that the full weight of his guilt hit him as all became so pitilessly clear. It hurt him as much as any emotional pain felt for the first time in life that he could not frame it in words. He rubbed his hand against his eyes and sat in the chair he had found himself in and didn't move. The only crumb of comfort he could cling onto was that he would do his utmost to ensure that Jo was protected from the incredible stupidity and, yes, immorality of his actions. 


	80. Chapter 80

A/N: the lyrics come from Cry by Faith Hill. Betaed by Jen. 

Part Eighty

As George drove towards St. Mary's to pick Kay up after her day teaching medical students how to cut up bodies, she didn't know whether to cry or be angry. It had stunned her into temporary speechlessness to see Connie lying on that sofa in John's arms, and she was still reeling from the shock of it. John had looked horror-struck, as though he really regretted hurting her in this way, though this was far more likely to be a regret at being caught. Thank god, she thought suddenly, thank god that it hadn't been Jo to walk in on John, because that would have knocked Jo completely over the edge. George was worried about Jo, because as she'd said, it really wasn't in Jo's nature to get drunk in the middle of a very important trial. Her thoughts strayed back to that weekend last year, that weekend when Jo had first kissed her. When they'd talked the next day, Jo had confessed to an occasional leaning towards alcoholism. She hadn't used that highly emotive word, but the meaning had been there. Was she about to go through something similar now because of the stress of Barbara's trial? George badly hoped not, but she was forced to admit that it was a possibility. 

As she sat in the rush hour traffic jam, she pressed play on the CD player, and the words of the song that greeted her, seemed almost too appropriate for her current situation. 

"If I had just one tear rolling down your cheek, maybe I could cope maybe I'd get some sleep. If I had just one moment at your expense, maybe all my misery would be well spent." 

Why couldn't John feel her suffering at what he'd done? Why couldn't he experience just a little of her hurt and her anger?

"If your love could be caged, honey I would hold the key, and conceal it underneath the pot of lies you've handed me..."

It wasn't his love she needed to cage, but his lust, his lust and instant arousal for beautiful women. Weren't she and Jo enough for him? Didn't he get all the love and passion from the two of them that he could possibly need? But then she hadn't exactly been very forthcoming with his favourite pastime lately, had she? George knew this was partly due to her distinct lack of sexual interest, and her fear that he would find her lump and confront her about its origin. She could feel the tears prickling behind her eyelids as this thought struck her. Connie Beauchamp had been so nice, so understanding, so practical. But now all of that concern had been shattered into a thousand pieces. What could she, George, possibly do about any of it? Her lump, John and his infidelity, Jo and her drinking?

When she cruised to a stop in the hospital car park, round the back by the entrance to the morgue, she kept the engine on and the windscreen wipers furiously trying to keep the pouring rain at bay. She had been so angry with John, but now she simply felt tired and hurt. She fervently tried to stem her tears, not wanting Kay to see her in such a state, but the effort was futile. When she saw Kay dashing across the car park, a medical bag in one hand and a briefcase in the other, George rummaged in her handbag for a tissue, trying to scrub the evidence of her crying from her face. Opening the car door, Kay dropped her belongings on the backseat, and slid into the passenger seat beside George. "Are you all right?" She asked in greeting, seeing the visible tear tracks on George's cheeks. "Fine," George replied dully, fixing her eyes on the moving windscreen wipers in front of her. "Would you like me to drive?" Kay asked, thinking that they might be safer if she did. George looked at her in slight surprise. "Yes, perhaps that would be better," She said, a watery smile just touching her face. Hurriedly swapping places in the still pouring rain, Kay got behind the wheel and George backtracked the CD to play that song again, the song that put all her feelings into one simmering cauldron. 

"Could you cry a little, and lie just a little? Pretend that you're feeling a little more pain? I gave, now I'm wanting something in return. So cry just a little for me." 

George laughed bitterly. "Men don't ever feel pain when they deserve it, do they." "No, not often," Kay agreed regretfully, remembering how Benton had sometimes been towards her before his supposed death. Kay moved carefully through the rain filled streets, making sure that she kept on the correct side of the road. London was virtually gridlocked at this time of day, reminding Kay fleetingly of New York City. The atmosphere in the car was thick with the pain that Kay could feel coming off George in waves. Something had obviously happened, something that had cut George to her core. But Kay didn't probe. She hadn't had the best of days today, having been forced by circumstance to revisit one of her most terrifying nightmares. 

When they reached home, George went upstairs for a long, hot shower, hoping that the comforting spray would wash away some of her feelings of utter despair. But all the hot shower did for her, was to encourage her tears to start up again, and steadily come faster and faster, making her gasp for breath at their intensity. Realising that they had both had something of a difficult day, Kay poured herself a scotch, and George a glass of Martini. Ice clinking as she walked up the stairs, Kay could hear the shower running in George's en suite. As she moved on silent feet into George's bedroom, and put the glass down on the dressing table, she heard the sharp, slightly suppressed sobs that made her own eyes prickle in sympathy. Kay had no idea what had happened with George today, but perhaps she might try and find out later. 

When George had calmed down somewhat and emerged from her shower, she found the glass of Martini on the dressing table, and smiled at Kay's thoughtfulness. When she went downstairs, Kay had changed into jeans and a thick blue jumper and had stoked up the fire. She was sitting in the armchair smoking a cigarette. "Thank you for the drink," George said, joining her. "I figured we both could do with it," Kay replied kindly. "Has your day been as rough as that as well?" George asked, reaching for her own nicotine fix. "Part of my job, whenever I come over here," Kay explained. "Is to teach young medical students how to process a crime scene, and how to preserve every shred of evidence that a dead body may hold. As well as giving them the usual lectures and demo autopsies, it sometimes involves me taking a group of them to a scene, and getting them used to the realities of a working life spent at the bedside of the dead rather than the living. Today was one of those days. I introduced them to a train death, something they will have to get used to if they decide to work in this particular city. A man in his early twenties had jumped in front of a Circle line train, one of the most desperate ways out I think I've ever heard of. There's very little left for any relative to identify after something like that, and every student who saw it today will probably have nightmares for the next week or so. But if they want to go into forensic pathology, then that's what life is all about." Kay became quiet, as though realising that her diatribe had gone on a little too long. "Gault was killed by a train, wasn't he," George said quietly, being careful to say when Gault was killed, rather than when you killed Gault. Kay's eyes widened in surprise. "Yes, he was," She replied flatly. "Or at least partly." After taking a long drag of her cigarette, she said, "It took me quite a long time to go anywhere near a train death after Gault was killed. I used to drop any that appeared on my desk on my Deputy Chief's. Gault was very beautiful in his own way, with almost white blonde hair, and the sort of piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through you. I remember once when I saw him in a shopping mall. Gault had seen me looking at him, and as I ran to my car and drove like the devil back down the interstate, it was his eyes that haunted me. That man today had blonde hair, well, what you could see of it." "Do you ever dream about Gault?" "More times than I care to count," Kay said bitterly. "I dream about all three of them from time to time, but Gault most of all." 

As she watched the multitude of expressions playing across George's face, Kay realised that George had fairly successfully managed to make her forget about George's earlier distress. "George, what happened today?" Kay asked after a relaxed, contented silence. "That would involve an explanation of possibly the weirdest relationship on the planet," George said dryly. "Are you sure you're ready for it?" "Try me," Kay challenged her, thinking of the years she'd spent thinking that Benton was dead and gone. "Jo, John and I, are involved in a sort of three-way relationship. It does usually work fabulously, and it took us years to realise that this was what we ought to be doing." "If it works, why worry?" Kay said simply. "We originally began something akin to this relationship," George explained. "Because John has a tendency to pick up random flings. He has hurt both Jo and I more times than I care to remember. You see, Jo was his lover on and off for years after John and I divorced. Anyway, the original agreement, before Jo and I discovered how we felt about each other, was that John would restrict himself to us and only us, and that he would stop helping himself to every passing bit of skirt who just happened to catch his eye. He's always loved Jo, ever since he met her, but part of him hasn't really stopped loving me. John has had the occasional lapse, one of which last year gave both Jo and I Chlamydia." "Oh dear," Kay said in sympathy. "Yes," George replied bitterly. "I don't think I've ever been quite as angry as I was then. However, I should say that what happened today made me come pretty close. After catching up with Barbara before they took her back to prison after court, I went upstairs to John's chambers, just to get a hug after a hard day, something that is totally forbidden between Judge and appearing barrister, but at five o'clock in the evening I was prepared to take the risk. When I walked in barely without knocking, I found John, lying in post-coital afterglow, with one of the prosecution witnesses." "Which one?" Kay asked, her eyes widening. "Connie Beauchamp," George said venomously. "Oh," Kay replied, the identity of the woman not remotely surprising her. "You don't sound at all surprised," George observed. "I've been forced to listen to Zubin going on about either her hospital politics or her lack of virtue for two days now," Kay told her. "So no, I'm not all that surprised. She's apparently slept with half the registrars in the hospital. It seems to be part of her policy of making them progress to a higher level." "I suppose that even after all these years, I didn't expect John to be cajoled into a quickie in chambers quite so easily." 

As Connie worked her way through her evening theatre list, two heart bypasses and a bone marrow transplant, her thoughts kept returning to her assignation that afternoon. God, but he had been good, certainly making it an afternoon she wouldn't forget in a hurry. But the look on George's face couldn't help but haunt her as she worked, the look of combined hurt, anger and resignation making her wonder if she really had done the right thing in sleeping with that Judge. Connie hadn't known that there was anything remotely sexual between the defence barrister and the judge, she couldn't have known, because their act in court was without doubt perfectly manufactured. But this wasn't the only thing to distract Connie's mind from its tasks. Did John know about George's lump? Did he have any idea that his lover was incubating breast cancer? Connie simply didn't know. 

Later that evening, as Kay and George ate some defrosted homemade soup in front of the fire, neither of them feeling much like eating, the phone rang. Putting her bowl down on the coffee table, George went to answer it. When she returned, she handed the cordless phone to Kay. "Captain Pete Marino for you," She said, smiling at the look of fondness on Kay's face. Switching the phone onto hands free so that she could continue eating her soup, Kay said, "Marino?" "Yo," Came the big, gruff voice over the wire. "It's me. How are you?" "Sick and tired of medical students who can't stomach the realities of a very difficult postmortem," Kay told him bluntly. "Hey, go easy on them, Doc," He told her calmly. "You were like that once." "I wasn't that bad," She insisted. "Anyway, what's been happening with you? Lucy told me about the woman in New York." "Yeah, I just got back from there. I sure hope we catch this squirrel soon, because I'm sick to the back teeth of hopping from one major city to another. Talking of which, did you get through customs all right with your piece?" "Fine," Kay told him with a smile. "Only then I managed to frighten George stupid by not telling her that I'd brought it with me." "She the posh chick who answered the phone just now?" Marino asked, making George laugh quietly. "Yes, Marino, that was her," Kay replied, giving George a lopsided grin. "George," Marino ruminated thoughtfully. "What kinda name's that for a woman? She another doctor lawyer Indian chief like you?" "No, I'm not," George told him with a smile, finally breaking in on the conversation. "I'm a plain and simple barrister." "Doc, you didn't tell me this conversation was being overheard," Marino said in disgust. "Well, I'm trying to eat, so I put you on hands free," She told him, thinking this a perfectly reasonable explanation. "I forgot to ask," Marino said, neatly changing the subject. "Did you find the CD I left in your briefcase?" "Yes, I did," Kay said sternly. "Marino, how on earth did you work out the combination lock to my briefcase?" "Hey, Doc, no offence," Marino began with the weight of an approaching bombshell. "But anyone who uses their DOB as their burglar alarm code, is probably gonna be dumb enough to also use it on their briefcase." George laughed at Kay's fiery blush. "Point taken," Kay replied dismally, seeing her reputation going up in smoke quicker than the logs on the open fire. 

A good while later when they were both heading up to bed, George suddenly asked, "How busy are you tomorrow?" "I don't have to give a lecture until the afternoon," Kay told her. "Why?" "Fancy coming to court with me and watching me make mincemeat of Mrs. Beauchamp?" Kay's eyes widened. "You really are going to do a hatchet job on her, aren't you?" "I should say she deserves it," George said dismissively. "I didn't think witnesses who hadn't yet been on the stand were permitted in the public gallery." "Oh, they're not," George said airily. "But I suspect I can smuggle you in somehow." "Then yes, I would be interested to see your idea of revenge being put into practice." 


	81. Chapter 81

A/N: All back story on Connie has been taken from various Holby episodes. Betaed by Jen. 

Part Eighty-One

The next morning when George drove into the car park, she saw that both Jo's and Yvonne's cars were already there. Fervently hoping that Jo was in a far better state than she had been yesterday, George led the way through the foyer. "I'll take you up to the public gallery," George said as they walked up the stairs. "But then I'll have to leave you to it." "I'm sure I can stay out of sight," Kay replied with a smile. "You'll see Yvonne sat in the front row, and I think Helen and Karen were planning to look in on the trial some time today." When the door of the public gallery closed behind them, Kay chose a seat near the back, with a pillar half in front of her that she could hide behind if necessary. There weren't many people there yet, but George caught sight of the two whom Yvonne had said were Barbara's stepchildren. 

When George retraced her steps downstairs, she saw Yvonne coming towards her, and glancing passed her, saw Jo drinking a cup of coffee in the canteen. "You all right?" Yvonne asked when she reached her, seeing something different to usual in George's face. "Oh, I'm fine," George said a little bitterly. "I'm just about to completely obliterate someone's ego, that's all." "Are you talking about Connie Beauchamp?" Yvonne asked knowingly. "She might be completely wrong about Barbara, but she wasn't that bad." "Don't ask, Yvonne, because I can promise you that you really don't want to know." "You look like the green-eyed monster has put in an appearance," Yvonne said quietly, her face turning serious. "It's not easy keeping anything from you, is it," George said ruefully. "What happened?" Yvonne asked, smiling slightly at the veiled compliment. "Did you catch her and the judge at it in chambers?" "As usual, Yvonne, you're absolutely right," George told her bitterly. "Stupid bastard," Yvonne replied fiercely. "What the bloody hell does he think he's playing at?" "You tell me," George said dismissively. "Jo doesn't know, does she," Yvonne said, glancing over at where Jo was gathering her things together. "No, she doesn't, and I want it to stay that way. While I remember, Kay's up there, though until she's been on the stand she really isn't supposed to be, so try not to draw too much attention to her." 

When Yvonne reached the public gallery, she momentarily sat down beside Kay. "Are you ready to see an exhibition of one hundred percent proof rage?" "Just how vengeful is it likely to be?" Kay replied, seeing that Yvonne knew all about the previous day's debacle. "Trust me," Yvonne said confidently. "George can verbally carve up the opposition, as skilfully as you do when they reach your slab. She isn't going to let this one go." When Helen, Karen, Cassie and Roisin arrived soon after, Yvonne's face split into a broad grin. "You two on the skive?" She said to Helen and Karen. "The thought of Sylvia making a complete tit of herself was just far too tempting," Karen replied with a smile. "She's not on till this afternoon," Yvonne filled them in. "But George probably wouldn't mind an audience for this morning." "Is she about to do something that might land her in my prison for a night or two?" Karen asked, looking slightly worried. "If that total bastard bangs her up for contempt, I'll make him regret the day he realised he had a dick," Yvonne said firmly. Exchanging a glance with Karen, Yvonne's eyes told her the whole story in an instant. "Yvonne," Put in Cassie, trying to lighten the situation. "Are you going to introduce us to your stunning companion," Which made Kay smile. As Yvonne introduced Kay to Cassie and Roisin, the gallery began to fill up. "I have to keep out of sight, because I'm really not supposed to be here," Kay said as they all moved to sit in the front row, ready for the show to begin. 

When the court was once again in session and Connie had returned to the stand, George rose from her seat at the front bench, and thoughtfully strolled towards Connie. On reaching her, George simply stood and examined every inch of her. Connie was dressed all in black today, something that George privately thought was highly appropriate. "Are you intending to start any time this morning, Ms Channing?" John asked her dryly. "Just getting the quarry well within my sights, my Lord," George replied airily, though the look she gave Connie was a direct promise of the hunt to come. Connie gazed stonily back at her, unwilling to give her an inch in open court for everyone to see. 

"Mrs. Beauchamp," George began, returning to stand by the front bench, leaving a necessary distance between her and her prey. "In your evidence yesterday afternoon, you stated, under oath I might add, that you did not consider any form of treatment to be a viable option for Henry Mills, when you examined him back in June of last year. Precisely why was this? Please give the court as much detail as you can." Thinking this to be a relatively normal question to begin with, Connie fixed her violet gaze on George's blue one and answered. "Henry Mills' cancer was extremely far advanced, and well within the terminal stages of its development. He had a steadily growing tumour invading his right lung, as well as secondary tumours attached to his ribs and the chest wall. The cancer had also invaded his lymphatic system, which meant that it was spreading all round his body. If I had attempted to remove the pulmonary tumour during surgery, I would have been forced to remove his entire lung, considerably impairing his breathing as his cancer inevitably became worse. I also considered, in my professional opinion, that either chemotherapy or radiotherapy, would have had only negligible results on both the primary tumour and the secondary spread of disease. Chemotherapy may have slightly reduced the primary tumour, but it would not have had any significant effect on the secondaries on the chest wall. The only option left open to Henry Mills' medical team therefore, was to provide him with palliative care and pain relief." "Yet in June 2004," George continued. "On your very first day at St. Mary's no less, you performed a radical, extremely high risk operation, all in the name of saving someone's life, which the court will accept is your daily bread so to speak. Does the name Pat Cowdry and the procedure known as the Battista mean anything to you?" Connie briefly stared at George, her eyes widening with surprise. Who in god's name had this woman been talking to? "I performed that operation," Connie replied carefully. "Because it was the only procedure that would have saved Pat Cowdry's life." "Mrs. Beauchamp," John broke in. "Would you mind explaining to the court precisely what the procedure known as the Battista actually is?" "Of course, My Lord," Connie replied sweetly, briefly glancing up at where he sat in his crimson robes. "Battista was a Brazilian heart surgeon, who developed a procedure to improve the lives of people with Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. Pat Cowdry, whom the court may be interested to know was the single parent of a fifteen-year-old girl, was suffering from end stage heart failure, caused by Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. With this form of Cardiomyopathy, the muscle of the heart thickens, preventing the lower chambers of the heart, the ventricles, from pumping the blood adequately. The blood that cannot circulate through the ventricles, backs up causing severe congestion of the respiratory system. All of the usual treatment options had been considered, and Pat Cowdry had been put on the heart transplant list. When I met her, a transplant was thought to realistically be her only option. When I performed Battista's procedure on her, I excised a large portion of the thickened muscle surrounding her left ventricle, making it easier for the heart to pump blood around her body. I chose to perform such a radical procedure, purely and simply because it was within my capability to do so. If there had been such a procedure at my disposal which would have saved the life of Henry Mills, I would have adopted said procedure without delay." 

"Wouldn't it be more accurate to suggest," George continued, taking back the reins of her cross-examination. "That you were far more concerned, on your first day as the new Medical Director, to make a lasting impression on your new colleagues?" Connie's professional hackles rose immediately. How dare she, how dare this woman suggest that she, Connie Beauchamp, would jeopardise a patient's life all in the name of professional advancement. "I disagree," She replied firmly. "Pat Cowdry's only remaining option was the Battista. If I hadn't operated on her when I did, very likely she would have died, leaving a fifteen-year-old daughter to be cared for by the state." "Mrs. Beauchamp," George said a little coolly. "Precisely how many of these operations have you performed during your entire career?" "Six," Connie answered stonily, knowing exactly what was coming. "And how many of those patients have survived the procedure?" "Four," Connie told her with something of a sigh. "Which would therefore indicate that you are a surgeon who is prepared to take risks, and extremely high risks at that. A pity you didn't see fit to take such risks for my client's husband." "Ms Channing, please desist in belittling the witness." "I am merely attempting to make my point stick, My Lord, something that I have no doubt you were good at before your rise to the bench." There was a muttered titter from the public gallery. "I did at least know the difference between cross-examination and intimidation of a witness, Ms Channing." "My Lord, I very much doubt that this particular witness could be intimidated by anyone," George replied scathingly. "Persist in arguing with me, Ms Channing, and I will be forced to consider your behaviour as holding this court in contempt. Is my meaning clear?" "Perfectly clear, My Lord," George said almost cheerfully before returning to the attack. 

"Mrs. Beauchamp," George came back to Connie. "During yesterday's testimony, you stated that you had predicted that Henry Mills would have approximately six months to live. Precisely what led you to that prediction?" "It might assist the court," Connie replied a little testily. "To explain that where terminally ill patients are concerned, nothing is precise, nothing can possibly be as exact as we would perhaps like it to be. I estimated that Henry Mills had approximately six months to live, because he was not experiencing any severe breathing difficulties, nor was he in any significant pain. His attitude was always positive, which can prolong the life of even the patients who are in their very last days. Henry Mills was still capable of performing the most basic of tasks for himself, and was being cared for at home by his wife. There was absolutely no indication that he would not go on in a similar manner for the next few months." "Might I take this opportunity to remind you of another patient of yours, a Maggie Thornton, who contracted chemo-resistant lung cancer in December 2004, and who died in January 2005. Considering that her lung cancer was at a very similar stage to that of my client's husband, why did you expect Henry Mills to live longer?" Yet again Connie's eyes widened in shock. Someone really had been talking, and the sooner she found out who it was, the sooner she could verbally rip their head off. Maggie Thornton had been Tricia's friend, whom she'd met during her treatment for breast cancer. Connie remembered the day Maggie had died, because Tricia's screaming at her to resuscitate Maggie haunted her even now. "I see that you do remember this particular patient," George said with an underlying sympathy that Connie couldn't miss. "What was so different about her, that made attempting to bring back a desperately ill patient after she had arrested, and who had been relying on Morphine to keep her sane?" "Maggie was a very close friend of one of the nurses on my ward," Connie replied quietly, wondering why George had turned gentle all of a sudden. "And whilst she did have secondary lung cancer, her case wasn't remotely similar to that of Henry Mills. Maggie's cancer was all the more progressive as a result of its being chemo-resistant. When the lung cancer was diagnosed, she was already experiencing breathing difficulties. I brought her back after she'd arrested, against the protests of my registrar, because I was quite literally begged to save her, and on that occasion I chose to bow to compassion, not to practical, medical common sense. If I had been with Henry Mills when he finally died, you can be sure that I would have done everything within my capabilities to resuscitate him if it were at all possible, including counteracting the overdose of Morphine he had received." "Given therefore that your prediction of Henry Mills life expectancy was so inaccurate, would you consider that he may in fact have actually died from natural causes?" Connie suddenly began to look tired, mentally exhausted by the wringer George was putting her through. "I cannot agree with that assertion," Connie said firmly. "There would have been signs of his severe deterioration that were not present. Yes, he may have been in a great deal of pain, hence the prescribing of the Diamorphine, but if he remained completely still, he could continue to breathe relatively easily. This is not what I would expect of a man who is about to die." "Fair enough," George conceded amicably. "But if it is, as you have previously said, virtually impossible to predict how long a person may live with terminal cancer, why are you so certain that Henry Mills died by my client's hand?" "Henry Mills would not have killed himself," Connie replied with absolute certainty. "I also can't agree that his cancer was what finally killed him. Therefore, he must have died at the hand of another, his wife being the obvious and only choice, as she was the one supposedly caring for him." Her tone was so firm, so assured, that it made Jo wince. 

Kay watched on in complete fascination, seeing how George expertly tied Connie Beauchamp in knots, gradually looping the noose around her neck. Whenever she was in court, she was always taking part in the proceedings, delivering expert testimony for the prosecution. But now, today, she was watching from the sidelines, taking almost sadistic pleasure in observing the tactical manoeuvres of the profession she might have inhabited if her destiny had taken her in another direction. She could see the backs of the women in the front row, each of them listening avidly to every single word. Glancing over their heads, Kay caught a good look at the judge who was overseeing this trial, plus the one sat as the winger. So, that was the man whom George had agonised over last night. To Kay, he looked suave, sophisticated, sexy, and utterly guilty of the crime George had caught him committing yesterday afternoon. 

"Mrs. Beauchamp, what did you do at the end of your very first day at St. Mary's?" For a moment or two, Connie appeared totally nonplussed. "I went home, poured a glass of wine, and put my feet up, just like any other normal human being," She answered a little caustically, not seeing the point of such a question. "Was your assignation with the consultant for general surgery quite so forgettable?" Taken completely by surprise, Connie slightly blushed. How could she forget that hour with Ric after such a difficult day? "Again, your face answers the question for you," George slightly mocked her. "Do you deny that you ended up having sex with your colleague at the end of your first day?" "No," Connie said dismissively, now realising the aim of George's shot. "Though I fail to see what relevance it bears to the circumstances of Henry Mills' death." "She has a point, Ms Channing," John put in stonily. "So please get on with it." George ignored him. "Would you also deny, that during your time at St. Mary's, you have, as a married woman, engaged in several sexual assignations with numerous consultants and registrars?" Connie's anger began to build. How dared this woman try to make her look like a complete whore in open court? "I don't see that as being any of the court's business," Connie replied icily. "Such a display of your true reputation," George told her with an evil smile. "Might just show the court how unprofessional you have the potential to be, wouldn't you say?" "My private life has no bearing whatsoever on this case," Connie threw back, her rising fury now evident for all to see. George laughed. "Hardly private if the entire hospital is aware of the favours you will accord up and coming registrars who require either a leg up or a leg over." There was a very female roar of laughter from the public gallery. "Would it not be fair to suggest, that your interest in furthering relations with your colleagues, may on occasion distract you from your professional responsibilities?" "Ms Channing, that is enough," John thundered at her. "I have warned you twice already this morning. Do that again and I will have you removed." "Why, My Lord," George replied with sheer recklessness. "Are you trying to suggest, that the higher echelons of a profession don't have highly suspect relationships with either their colleagues or members of the public, and that they don't in fact make a total mockery of the rules and regulations that govern such practices?" John stared stonily back at her. She was pushing him, he could feel it, just daring him to bang her up as he had threatened. He knew only too well that if he did, if he gave into his inclination to slap her in a cell, she would pour out all her anger and bitterness about what he had done to literally anyone who would listen. There was a long, highly charged silence. "Do you have any further questions, Ms Channing?" John asked quietly, though with a ton of hidden meaning behind his backing down. "With your permission, My Lord, I have four," George replied in the same polite tone, as though none of their momentary slanging match had ever taken place. "Mrs. Beauchamp," She said, turning back to Connie, and feeling her pulse racing with the after effects of the rage that had just swept through her. "If, as you say, you only spent minimal time with Henry Mills and his wife, during his diagnosis and the discussion of his lack of treatment options, how can you possibly make an accurate assessment of either his or my client's character?" "Ms Channing," Connie replied dismissively. "I have spent the last twenty years dealing with people and their problems, something that I feel gives me more than adequate experience for making such an assessment, even as in this case, in a very short time." 

"Whilst taking your vast experience with patients into account, how can you be so certain that my client is guilty?" "I have come across many suicidal patients in my time," Connie said quietly but with a firmness in her tone that belied her sombre expression. "And I can assure you, that Henry Mills was not one of them. Not once during the time I spent with him, did he display the type of negative disinterest I would normally associate with a possibly suicidal patient. Henry Mills would not have killed himself, which I believe makes your client as guilty as you appear to think I am of unprofessional conduct." Ignoring this jibe, George asked, "Have you ever encountered a suicidal patient who, on initial inspection, did not reveal such an inclination?" "Of course I have," Connie replied without thinking. "Patients don't fit into a particular mould. They are people, just like you and me, all capable of doing what you don't expect of them." "Would you therefore concede," George said extremely carefully. "That you may have been wrong to believe so unerringly in my client's guilt?" Realising the trap that she had just fallen into, Connie remained quiet. "Is it not possible," George cajoled her, seeing the belief beginning to crack. "That Henry Mills could only have decided on his way out of his illness, long after you saw him, long after you decided that his positive attitude would remain within until the end? Isn't it just within the bounds of realistic belief, to accept that he may eventually have come to see that injecting himself with Diamorphine was the only suitable end to his unending pain?" When Connie's shoulders ever so slightly slumped, George knew that her prey was caught. "Yes," Connie said quietly, though loud enough for the court to hear. "I would give it very long odds, but there were three months between when I last saw Henry and when he died." "Thank you," George told her, meaning every syllable with all her heart. 

When court adjourned for lunch, George felt as though every shred of her energy had deserted her. Making her way immediately outside, she was relieved to find that it wasn't raining. Sitting down on one of the benches that weren't often frequented at this time of year, she lit a cigarette. She had almost lost it back there, feeling a sudden urge to tear John limb from limb for what he'd done. But thankfully they had both managed to control their need to punish. As she sat there, she was disturbed in her musings by the arrival of someone else. Connie had walked out of court, thinking that even at this time of the day, a large scotch would probably do her the world of good. But when she saw George sitting by herself and smoking, Connie felt a need to clear the air. 

When Connie sat down beside her, George gave her half a smile. "You did extremely well this morning. I was impressed." "Well," Connie replied with her own ascent to civility. "It isn't often that I get the opportunity to fight against an equal." "I should imagine that many of your staff are no contest." "No," Connie replied a little disgustedly. "Though one of them is about to be given the chance to explain themselves." "You want to know who's been talking?" George said, realising that this was the point of Connie's approaching her. "I expect I have no right to ask," Connie replied digging out her own packet of cigarettes. "That isn't a habit I would expect to see in a heart surgeon," George commented in surprise. "And I wouldn't expect a silk to risk being put on remand for contempt," Connie countered back with a shrug. "But there you are." "Touché," George conceded dryly. Then, after taking another long drag, she said, "If I do tell you from whom I acquired several very interesting facts about you, not all of which I used this morning, I shall expect you to do something for me." "I wouldn't expect any different from you, Ms Channing," Connie replied coolly. "Obtain cover for yourself on Thursday, and be in the public gallery to hear Barbara's testimony, which I should imagine will take all day. Only then will you be able to see how wrong you were." If Connie was honest with herself, she might have known that this would be the name of the bargain. Taking a thoughtful drag of her cigarette, Connie conceded to herself that it was the least she could do. "Okay," She said eventually. "You have a deal." Ditching her cigarette end into the ornamental fountain, George said, "Will Curtis was very forthcoming about you, almost tripped over his words in his haste to blacken your reputation." Connie's face had hardened at the first syllable of Will's name. The treacherous little worm! "I see that he'll be duly punished for his indiscretions," George added with a slight smirk. "You're bloody right he will," Connie said icily. "I'll put him on cadaver practice for a month for this." "I suppose I ought to feel sorry for him," George replied with a smile. Then, after a short silence, Connie asked, "George, apart from the obvious, what did I do?" By these words, and the slightly hesitant tone in which they were uttered, George knew that Connie was referring to what had happened the day before. Connie clearly wanted an explanation of the rage George had displayed that morning, something she wouldn't usually bother to enquire for. "Connie, you didn't just help John to betray one woman, but two, the other of which is not currently in an emotionally stable enough position to deal with it. I accept that you knew nothing of the sort, but in cross-examining you this morning, it was far too easy to throw my anger at you than it will be at John. It's not something I'm especially proud of, but I expect you might have done the same." "Yes," Connie agreed amicably. "I have done, on numerous occasions, especially when my husband's infidelity leads him to become acquainted with my staff." "Is that why you also make a similar acquaintance with various registrars?" "They occasionally provide a delightful distraction at the end of a difficult day," Connie admitted with a smile, feeling no shame at what she did on a regular basis. After another thoughtful silence, Connie asked, "Does he know about your lump?" Immediately George's expression became closed, as though she was inwardly struggling to keep her feelings hidden. She wished with all her heart that Connie didn't know about this. "No, he doesn't," She said a little coldly. "And at least until this trial is over, that's the way it needs to stay." "George, you really can't go on ignoring it the way you have been," Connie told her gently but firmly. "I know how frightening it must be..." "No, you have absolutely no idea," George interrupted vehemently. "Do you seriously think I've learnt nothing during my years in the medical profession?" Connie demanded just as vehemently. "Learning a thing and actually feeling it are two very different things," George assured her bitterly. "George, I can't make you take any possible outcome seriously, but I urge you to do something about it as soon as possible." "Don't you think I've thought about every possible outcome?" George demanded, the rising fear bringing tears to her eyes. "Every minute of every day that isn't spent thinking about something else, is haunted by what they may eventually have to do to me." "The longer you leave it, the worse it will be," Connie told her persuasively. George was about to reply, when she saw Kay walking towards them. Forcing her cheerful mask to slip back into place, she greeted Kay as she walked up to the bench where they were sitting. 

As Kay had walked towards where George and Connie were talking, she had seen that brief look of terrified anguish on George's face, and couldn't help wondering what they had been discussing. "That was some performance," Kay said when she reached them, digging out her own cigarettes as she did. "It felt to me like a twelve hour operation spent in the spotlight," Connie said ruefully. "You're working with Professor Khan's medical students, aren't you?" Connie asked. "Yes," Kay replied amicably. "I think I'm shattering all their illusions before they even start." "Which won't do them any harm in the slightest," Connie said firmly. "Would you like a lift back to the hospital, or are you staying for this afternoon?" "I have a lecture to give this afternoon," Kay told her. "So a lift would be much appreciated." As they got up to go, Kay briefly rested a hand on George's shoulder. "I'll see you later," She said kindly, thinking that George looked utterly exhausted. "Thank you for being here this morning," George said to her. As she watched Kay and Connie walk towards a silver-grey Jaguar, she saw the other occupants of the public gallery coming out for their own nicotine fix. Walking over to the group of five women, she said, "I didn't know you were all here." "I wouldn't have missed that for the world," Helen told her, wondering what the Judge had been up to, to bring about such a display of fury in George. "You sailed a bit close to the edge there," Karen told her fondly. "I almost expected to have to take you back to Larkhall with me." "He wouldn't have dared," Yvonne said with total assuredness. "He'd have had us to answer to if he had." 


	82. Chapter 82

Part Eighty-Two 

"Come on. Court's starting in three minutes time." Karen firmly pronounced to the others as she checked her watch. She was the first to stub her cigarette out

Helen grinned at Karen's air of command which threw up, in sharp relief, the way her years as a psychologist had mellowed her and bluntened that need to take command of a situation. She gestured to Karen to lead the way and, by collective response, the others followed in behind her. Imperceptibly, a heightened feeling of anticipation crept in amongst the group of five women as they passed into the foyer 

Bodybag had walked into the foyer of the Old Bailey, her head held high in the air with that sniffish look of disdain more pronounced than normal. She had appeared in court before and the one thought sustained her was that she was the expert on prisoners. She had looked after them for fifteen years and she knew their ways and in particular that Hunt woman whose card she'd marked years before. She'd seen prisoners come and go and return again and the years of experience had told her that, once a con, always a con or else you never went to prison in the first place. No matter how snooty those two women barristers she'd be up against, there was no substitute for experience and, this time, she would speak her mind no matter what that well meaning man was nagging her about all the time to be careful what she said. He did go on at her, she sighed to herself. He was a typical man , a bit like her Bobby, who would prefer not to let her handle these situations. When she entered the foyer, she blinked at the dim light inside and was confused by the sense of hurly burly of criss crossing people. It took her a little while to feel her way forward through the crowd when , from behind her back, grated that hated voice.  
"Hey, Bodybag, glad you've dropped in"  
She turned round on her heel to gape as Yvonne appeared out of nowhere. Next to her, Helen was rooted to the spot, her face set rigid. Further to the right, Karen's expression was impassive but hardly welcoming. Together with two other troublemakers, this was all she needed.  
"I'm only doing my job, Atkins. Somebody's got to." Bodybag said pompously "So were the SS." Came the whiplash retort from a smaller blond haired woman to Yvonne's left while Roisin laughed boldly at her face. "So, I'm stuck with some ex cons and their bosom buddy. Nothing changes"  
"Sylvia, for your own good, you had better take yourself elsewhere now because I won't be answerable for the consequences if you don't"  
Even while Helen glared at Bodybag, Karen's crack of authority in her voice got through to her that perhaps she would feel safer somewhere else but she couldn't resist trying to have the last word.  
"You'll never change her. You should know that you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear"  
It was as much as Karen could do to stop herself smacking the stupid malicious woman across the face but instead, with a supreme force of will, she put her hand in front of the others. She could feel the solid wall of loathing flame up alongside her. A coldly analytical corner of her mind told her that there was no need to exact private vengeance, as she knew that Jo and George would make mincemeat out of her. "I just hope you're still sure about why you're doing this, because you're sure as hell about to find out." 

At that, Karen stormed off, leading the others in the direction of the staircase to the visitor's gallery while Bodybag gaped in astonishment. What Madam had said was as clear as a cloud to her because, as far as she was concerned, she was going to tell the court everything she knew and she would settle old scores once and for all. Fate preserved her from further trouble as the solicitor anxiously gestured her to come to the entrance of the court. Eager to be there on time, she scuttled along.

"If she'd have stayed there one minute longer, I'd have killed her." Hissed Helen under her breath as she clattered up the staircase.  
"You can get banged up for doing things like killing people," Laughed Yvonne at Helen of all people vowing death to that stupid waste of space. She was starting to calm down a bit as she recalled the way that George had outsmarted that very sharp witted and attractive doctor of theirs. Bodybag would be a pushover in comparison. "Never mind her, she'll get what's coming to her, Helen." She added. Behind his half closed eyelids, John looked watchfully round at the courtroom as Bodybag took her place. He took the measure at her air of self-importance and remembered that utterly reactionary prison officer at Larkhall prison. It felt utterly incongruous to see her out of her normal context and invading his instead. He ran his eye round the visitor's gallery and intoned the formula to start proceedings. Brian Cantwell looked fairly smug with himself as he was readying himself to lead off his questioning.  
"Mrs. Hollamby, can you tell the court your occupation"  
"I am a prison officer at Her Majesty's Prison Larkhall." "And how long have you worked in the prison service"  
Bodybag hesitated and looked vague for a second as she ran her mental calendar backwards in time. It all seemed a long time ago since she had first started work. "Let me think, I think it is now fifteen years"  
"And what was your previous occupation"  
"I was a traffic warden."

Yvonne couldn't resist sniggering under her breath.  
"Hey, Karen, you never told us that one"  
"I don't like looking in Sylvia's personnel file more than I have to. Would you have done if you didn't have to, Helen"  
"You might have found all the juicy bits and told us all. You're a real spoilsport, miss"  
"This is Sylvia you are talking about, Yvonne." retorted Karen with raised eyebrow. "More bungling incompetence than I care to read about but no lurid sexual scandals. That woman hasn't lived." Helen's lips curved slightly at the air of smugness with which Karen delivered her final judgment and they studiously ignored the air of priggish disapproval from Laurence James and the venomous glares from Greg and Amanda. 

"Why did you choose to move to the prison service?" Brian Cantwell continued. "It was my Bobby, my late husband who used to work for the prison service. He kept on telling me 'Sylvia, your talents are simply wasted plodding the beat and sticking tickets on careless drivers who are too lazy to find the nearest car park. The prison service is simply crying out for people with the necessary firmness and dedication to make sure that the criminal fraternity are properly dealt with, people with eyes in the back of their head.' He was right too. I had got fed up of being rained on in the winter and getting abuse in doing a thankless job and I thought I'd take myself to an occupation to where my talents are better appreciated."

"I've always thought that Bodybag was a Martian." Whispered Cassie.  
"Her husband had a lot to answer for. Just think of it, if only he hadn't stuck his oar in she'd have been left to terrorise some poor unfortunate driver instead." Put in Helen.

Unfortunately, Helen had never mastered the knack of keeping her voice down and the acoustics of the hard stone court chamber projected her words to perfection. Her 'stage whisper' could be heard by the jury who grinned and also by John at the far end of the courtroom. His gaze had been focused away from George who was smiling scornfully, veered sharply and homed in on Helen. She only smiled sweetly and disarmingly back at John while Brian Cantwell kept his face straight and stuck to his batting order of questions. "What was your first impression on meeting Barbara Mills"  
"She gave the impression of being very saintly and too good to be true. I know her type from a lifetime of experience. For that reason, I decided to keep my eye on her." "What have you observed to be her usual behaviour whilst on remand"  
"I found it very strange for someone with her Christian background and what she was accused of." Bodybag proclaimed with infinite smugness causing a collective wince at her heavy-handed emphasis on the word 'Christian.' "She got very pally with the more hardened criminals. There was never anything I could pin on her but it was obvious that she was one of those prisoners who kept her head down but schemed away to her heart's content." "How has she behaved to you in particular?" Brian Cantwell said patiently, eager to pin this woman down to specifics and bolster up her case." "With total disrespect. She always questioned the slightest order I gave her and was always ready with backchat. It was almost as if she would disagree for disagreeing's sake. She was at her worst when her 'friends' were around. I think she enjoyed playing to the gallery. Her educated background only made her a worse troublemaker than nature made her"  
"Hear hear." Greg instantly loudly proclaimed in ringing tones as the mood in the gallery was instantly polarized. "This is a court of law and not the bear pit of the House of Commons on a particularly bad night." John fired back curtly. "Kindly hold your tongue or you will be forcibly removed"  
Sir Ian and Lawrence James glared at John for his unfortunate choice of words while Monty looked stonily back at them.  
"I have done nothing wrong." Greg persisted while Amanda pulled at the sleeve of her hot-tempered brother.  
"It is we on the bench who are the best judge of that. We have both right and power to remove anyone, and I mean anyone, whose behaviour does not show respect for the court." Growled Monty whose own anger smouldered and his gaze was fixed on Sir Ian and Lawrence James. "Keep schtum, everyone." Whispered Yvonne out of the side of her mouth. She was boiling over with rage to hear the crass way that that evil cow badmouthed Julies and Denny but felt that the iron determination from the bench was fully determined to strike down even those stuck up civil servants behind her. She knew that they weren't kidding. "It's our turn now."

The icy silence seemed to hang on the air and Bodybag smiled to herself in immense self-satisfaction. She felt that she had done a good job in subtly undermining the image that Barbara presented of being the poor hard done by victim and placed her hands on the bars of the witness stand in self satisfaction. Jo rose to her feet, fully prepared to dispense with polite preliminaries in asking her first question. "Taking your fifteen years experience into account, why haven't you ever been promoted?" This question confused Bodybag as she wasn't expecting it. "I, erm, I'm not the ambitious go getting type. I've brought up three children and my husband's career came first. I'm happy just to work on the coal face, as it were"  
"………And badmouth everyone and skive." Muttered Karen under her breath.  
"In all your long experience, has a prisoner in your charge, ever managed to get the better of you?" came the casually delivered question from the taller of the two women with a slight smile on her lips.  
"Not that I can remember"  
To Bodybag's surprise, her questioner promptly sat down and the smaller of the two women moved to the side of the long bench, edging forward with a hard menacing smile on her lips.  
"Are you absolutely sure about that?" "Of course I am"  
"However, you were in fact demoted, were you not. Please would you enlighten the court, as to the circumstances of your demotion"  
"I'm not sure why you're asking me this question. It's got nothing to do with Mrs. Hunt, I mean Mills"  
"Let me put it another way. Would you like to tell the court, about the night that Sharon Wiley and Daniella Blood locked you in their cell? Is it really true that you had to hand over your keys in order for them to let you out?" "It was just an unfortunate accident. I got tricked by two particularly cunning and malicious prisoners into being locked into their cell. I had been working a lot of extra shifts to cover absences and I was tired and a bit slow. I didn't realize what they were doing at first……" stammered Bodybag.  
"……..Despite the eyes in the back of your head." murmured George just loudly enough.  
"…….they were on the outside and the only way I could deal with the situation quickly was get them to agree to hand over the keys so that they could unlock me. They let me out a bit later after they had disappeared for a bit. It was totally unfair as all I was trying to do was to do my job properly and investigate some suspicious goings on by two prisoners whom I'd had my eye on"  
"Three cheers for Denny, eh" grinned Yvonne.  
With great satisfaction, John placed the vivid memories of that long ago conversation with Denny next to the event so dispassionately recorded. "Just how long were the two prisoners away from your cell, Mrs. Hollamby?" George's voice arched up and down the scales in malicious pleasure while Brian Cantwell stood, stony faced. This idiot woman had never told him about this prison version of a Whitehall farce despite his persistent questions. "An hour or so." Mumbled Bodybag under her breath. "This was all a very long time ago and I can't be expected to remember every little last detail of my working life. It might have been less than that"  
George's wide and sweeping theatrical gesture to the jury smile milked the implausibility of Bodybag's over eager protestations while five women looked down at her from the gallery in mixed amusement and contempt.  
"Let's move on to another incident in your long and distinguished career. Just out of pure interest, how did it come about that you were reinstated?" "Well, I was able to resolve a difficult problem at work as the POA representative"  
"For the benefit of the jury, can you explain what the initials stand for, Mrs. Hollamby," John broke in, just beating George to the question by a fraction of a second. He had been dying to say something for ages and gave way to that irresistible temptation. "I apologise, my Lord. The POA is a union and stands for the Prison Officer's Association. I hope I have made myself clear"  
"Carry on, Mrs Hollamby." "It all started when a particularly violent criminal had stabbed a long standing, well respected pillar of the prison service." Bodybag started to say very slowly, feeling for the right words and noticing Helen's and Karen's intense stare at her, which was about to turn to total fury. "The powers that be had been let her off very lightly with a slap on the wrist when she was as guilty as sin. All the prison officers felt strongly about it and I could certainly see their point of view so we went on strike as a protest until she was properly dealt with"  
"Go on." John urged to George's theatrical sigh and Jo's flash of irritation.  
"John," muttered Monty, leaning over towards him." You must let council carry on with the cross examination and not take over from them"  
John blinked with surprise as if Monty had made the most blindingly obvious suggestion.  
"Of course, Monty"  
"Well, tempers were high, I can tell you. It wasn't till later when things had cooled down a bit when Mr. Stubberfield came to talk to me as the POA representative. We came to an understanding and he agreed that I had been discriminated against and that reinstating me to my proper rank would be a gesture of appreciation"  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hollamby, you've completely lost me and I suspect, the jury also. For a start, what happened to the prisoner? Was she suitably chastised and punished by the prison authorities?" "Er, I don't remember." Bodybag stammered.  
"How very convenient. So can you explain what possible connection is there between the supposed lenient treatment of a prisoner for a serious crime , your reinstatement and the strike being called off ? The three simply don't go together"  
"All I can say is that Shell Dockley made sure she kept her head down and stopped bragging about the stabbing and that my reinstatement cooled feelings down." John suddenly sat up bolt upright in his throne as a series of mental images rushed back in front of his waking eyes of when she had broken into Karen's flat and he had helplessly watched from the sidelines while Karen patiently negotiated for his safety. He seemed to stare at something infinitely far away.  
"So it was the case of a you scratch the governor's back and he'll scratch yours, Mrs. Hollamby"  
"I beg your pardon"  
"After all, Mrs. Hollamby, you were the spokesman of the strikers and not the instigator, were you not"  
"John," murmured Monty, leaning over to him to seek his intervention against George's leading question. He was surprised that the normally alert John was frozen, unresponsive and therefore intervened on his own account.  
"I think Ms.Channing that you are asking a leading question. You know that you should not be doing that." "I apologise, my Lord." George responded graciously with perfect poise. "I shall rephrase my question in more acceptable terms. How can you account for the fact that you alone benefited from this deal with Mr. Stubberfield with nothing else gained while you claim to have only represented your fellow prison officers and had no vested interests?" "Believe what you want,"Bodybag retorted with more spirit than Karen would have credited her with. "I can only say that I saw what I saw." "I'm sure the jury understands very well exactly what has happened." George retorted in her most crushingly sarcastic tones, turning to the jury who exchanged meaningful glances and stepping backwards for Jo to take up the attack.

"What is your general approach to gaining a prisoner's trust?" Jo asked in the mildest possible fashion.  
"I beg your pardon"  
"I was making a general enquiry for the benefit of the jury as to your approach to prisoners in how you set about gaining their trust if you don't mind me asking"  
"Hmmh. They have to gain my trust first before I'll trust them. For example, if they get the privilege of making the tea and spring-cleaning the PO's room, spring comes every day of the year and I'm very fussy about the milk and sugar. If they do that correctly, then they're in a different class than the run of the mill cons"  
"So what type of prisoner do you find easiest to deal with"  
"Well, I suppose I find that those prisoners who do as I say and don't ask awkward questions will get my favour"  
Brian Cantwell cringed at the connotations of patronage by grace and favour but Jo surprisingly ignored the obvious opening and politely carried on. "Has Barbara Mills ever caused you any direct trouble during her stay in prison?" "Not exactly." "Is that a yes or a no, and please bear in mind that you are under oath, and that I do have in front of me, Barbara's prison record." "Well, nothing that I could definitely pin on her"  
"So taking into account that you generally prefer those prisoners who don't cause you any problems, would you like to tell the court why, you admitted a known very violent inmate, onto an open accommodation wing, whilst assuming she was in fact my client?" George jumped in, the edge of steel in her voice springing the trap that Jo had set up. 

John was struck by the diamond sharp precision in the way that Jo and George shifted positions and the way that their different styles meshed together to constantly shift the focus of attack. It gave John the perfect excuse to stick his oar in.  
"Is this a case of good guy and bad guy?" "No my Lord. We just work together well as a team." The sheer smugness with which Jo came out with this line and the broad grin on George's face made John slightly smile to himself in contrast to the way that at one time they fought tooth and nail. John admired very much the teamwork that they enjoyed and, even in the tense cut and thrust of the trial, it occurred to him to recall that outside the court and in bed, the pleasure they had enjoyed when he had joined in with them. "So how did yet another incident in your very badly spotted record come to take place?" George pursued relentlessly.  
"That was an accident." Stammered Bodybag, visibly sweating. "Some fool from Newby prison didn't send the papers with the two prisoners, Barbara Hunt and Tessa Spall. I mean one of them was kicking up a dickens of a row and we didn't know that Barbara Hunt suffered from claustrophobia. It was easy for Tessa Spall, the violent inmate, to deceive us in being as meek as a lamb and to get the two prisoners mixed up. Anyone would have done it." "So, considering your own evidence of your performance as a prison officer over the years, do you consider that you have an expert opinion, when it comes to the assessment of the prisoners in your charge"  
"If I get the paperwork on time, yes." Bodybag snapped back defiantly. "How professional would you say your considered opinion really was, on the night that Carol Byatt told you she needed a doctor?" George slid in smoothly.  
"What do you mean"  
"If I understand it correctly, she called out to you that she was bleeding and yet you deliberately ignored her so that she miscarried in the night"  
"She never did. She was tired and didn't want to leave her cell but bleeding? She never told me that. In any case, she had a bad reputation for time wasting." Helen's temper flamed uncontrollably and with the full force of her lungs, hurled her accusation right into Bodybag's face. Her eyes focused on nothing else but that hated woman and her mind froze on that first emotionally scarring crisis at Larkhall and demanded that she should say at last what had been left unsaid. "You're telling a complete pack of lies, Sylvia. You left that woman because you couldn't be bothered and thanks to you, she nearly bled to death." Bodybag's face turned white as those words echoed down the years from another hated trouble maker who now outranked her. "Do you want to spend the night in the local remand prison?" John enquired of Helen, staring intently at her.  
Helen blinked her eyes as John's quiet words had been like a bucketful of water thrown in her face. She remembered who and where she was and that agile mind of a psychologist came to her rescue. Conscious of her friends around her and with the most innocent smile that she could summon up ,Helen retorted to the accompaniment of laughter from the other women. "Not really, judge. The room service isn't up to much"  
John smiled at that rare moment of lightheartedness and indulgently permitted a brief burst of laughter from the other women. It gave the court just enough time to settle down before Jo resumed, switching her point of attack yet again. "Let's consider the charges laid against my client of taking the life of her husband, Henry Mills, who was dearest to her heart and whose death may have caused her, in your words, to 'keep her head down', perhaps out of grief at her loss. In this so called professional opinion of yours, what makes you so certain, that my client is guilty?" 

Jo's question was phrased in restrained tones though with a slight resonance. It was her reference for Barbara's love for her late husband that hit a sensitive nerve in Bodybag, the memory that he once rejected her amorous advances in place of a con. Her face was suddenly distorted with rage as she totally lost control to the surprise of the court. "I know how guilty she is as she's done it before. I mean she murdered her second husband and still married to her first. I know she did it to get her hands on his millions and she was locked up in Larkhall before. That's why I know her so well"  
"That's right, she killed our father," shouted out Greg. "She cannot be allowed to get away with it. My sister and I demand justice"  
"You snotty nosed hypocrites and money grabbing bastards."Yelled Yvonne at the top of her voice. "You come over so high and mighty and the only thing Babs spent money on before you stole it was a half way house for some of the girls who get out with no homes to go to"  
"All of you in the gallery will all shut up right now," thundered John, absolutely livid with rage. The uproar was all the more devastating as it had suddenly blown up from nowhere. Instinctively he knew that he had to quell the uproar from the balcony first before he could deal with the rest of the disorder in segments. "If any of you say one more word, I'll have you locked up for contempt of court and I'll throw away the key"  
The sounds were snuffed out as if a candle was extinguished and the only faint sounds were the reverberating sounds of the ceiling lights. A sudden hush highlighted the bedlam of a few seconds before.  
"Can the jury be cleared from court and you will wait in the jury room until you are called back." Growled Monty. "We have urgent business to dispose of."

"Thanks Monty." John whispered in an aside as the twelve of them shuffled out and were led away. While this happened, Karen seethed inwardly with rage at the way that Bodybag had let down the good name of the prison service and that she was compelled to keep quiet. Doesn't she care at the mayhem she's caused, Helen wondered inwardly? Jo and George shook their heads incredulously at what had been suddenly unleashed while Brian Cantwell felt as if he could sink through the floor in embarrassment.

"Mrs Hollamby, what I find myself at a loss to explain is whether your stupidity is greater than your sheer maliciousness. I would expect a public servant to have testified in court before to have a basic idea of what can or cannot be said in court and also someone who will have been guided by her council. Mr Cantwell," he added as he saw him about to stand up to extricate himself from any blame. "You have appeared before me on numerous occasions and while we haven't always seen eye to eye, I know you well enough just where to apportion blame in this particular case. Please believe me when I say that I know that you are entirely innocent of any involvement in this utter shambles. Mrs Hollamby, I am cutting short your testimony as I am of the firm belief that you have nothing left to contribute to this trial if indeed you ever had anything useful to say in the first place. On a personal note, I have to tell you that I don't like bigoted, prejudiced petty dictators who aren't fit to give evidence in a court of law. You will get out of this court and never dare set foot in this court while you appear before me or, I fancy any other judge. Just go"  
Bodybag heard with horror the tones of the judge as it built up in intensity and encapsulated all her experiences of being on the receiving end of all the firm discipline she had advocated all through her life. She started to break down in tears and ran for the exit.  
"You've lost this case for us." Brian Cantwell hissed at her as she scuttled past.

"And now, I want to see council in chambers immediately. The court is adjourned." John's tones of voice, though more subdued, was as firm and determined as anything he had said in his life. Everyone looked at each other in a dazed fashion. It felt as if a bomb had exploded and everyone felt totally numb as they picked up the pieces of themselves to put themselves together. 


	83. Chapter 83

Part Eighty-Three

Sir Ian and Lawrence James shot to their feet and clattered out of the visitor's gallery. They moved in much more of a flurry of haste than mandarins were apt to display in public. They marched down the staircase, tight lipped. They had their own agenda to pursue.

"Jesus Helen, you were really pushing it." Yvonne exclaimed in astonishment at the sight of the former Miss Stewart defying authority so blatently. "You're lucky to still be here. George would have been banged up for less." "I don't care, Yvonne. She had it coming to her for a long long time." "What do you mean, Helen?" Karen asked quietly. She had heard scattered fragments of the story about Carol Byatt but never anything from Helen despite their renewed friendship. "It all happened before your time, Karen. You heard the bare facts as to what happened. Well, I went to see Carol in hospital and then asked Sylvia for her side of the story. It doesn't take rocket science to work out that she lied through her teeth and, of course, Jim Fenner backed her up. Rightly or wrongly, I called for a full wing meeting to show that I cared and I tried to reassure everyone that Carol was fine and that there would be a thorough investigation. When it came to the crunch to tell the wing what I would do about it, both of those bastards just looked at me, daring me to let down the prison officers. Out of stupid, foolish loyalty to them, I denied what I knew in my heart but had no proof of. Nikki was there and she hit the roof and told me that we should all be sacked and that Carol nearly bled to death"  
"Just what you told the court today, Helen." Came Yvonne's incredibly tender voice. She could tell how haunted Helen was by the memory of doing the wrong thing despite her best intentions. "That memory has haunted me and, to tell you the truth, the reason why I was dead against Nikki taking on G Wing"  
"But Nikki's learnt from what you have told her and what she's seen with her own eyes. She's not the woman you were." Karen said softly while Roisin and Cassie hovered protectively around her.  
"That's what I worked out after a lot of soul searching. At first, logic went clean out the window compared to what I felt." Helen finished at last. The sense of sympathy was palpable and wrapped itself round her.  
"At least there's one good thing about it, Helen. It ain't as if you're going to be hobnobbing with the judge so long as you keep your head down." Helen smiled weakly. For once in her life, there was something that Yvonne didn't know. She would have to work that one out when he came to be the patient in need of her help and wisdom and she was the professional psychologist. Right now, she didn't feel all that certain of anything or wise. 

Tight lipped, John and Monty stalked down the corridor to the chambers. There was a sensation like that of a vortex which would funnel in inflamed barristers, seething politicians and who knew what else into that narrow space.  
"Your chambers, John." Came the curt words to which John nodded assent.

It took no time for the crowd to assemble and the tension built up like a lowering thunderstorm, huge clouds hovering overhead waiting for the first spark. Sir Ian lit it.

"This trial has descended into a total farce. It's time to end it"  
"You mean, that the defence has no case to answer and set Barbara free. I could be persuaded to that point of view"  
"That is not what I meant. The trial should be abandoned and be reconvened far away from here. That was my original wish"  
"I do not see any intrinsic reasons why we should be so precipitate. I've continued with far rockier trials and come out at the end of it with a verdict"  
"We all know about your unique and dare I say, maverick ways of conducting trials. Others amongst us are not so rash and foolhardy"  
"The trial is about seeking justice, concepts in which I was trained in many years ago." "So what's happened to your master plan to control the case? We told you that the wretched case should have been packed off to some distant court hundreds of miles away from us only you wouldn't listen"  
"Nothing has gone wrong with the trial that can't be sorted out. Our strategy is sound. We have only struck trouble due to that idiot of a witness that Mr. Cantwell dragged in"  
"Oh so it's my fault, John. What's happened to all those high minded words you said in court"  
"You weren't to blame for deliberately bringing in your witness to cause mayhem. You considered her in good faith. It's just that"  
"But what, John"  
"You were a bit over eager to believe everything she said. Your judgment wasn't good. In your situation, I would have spotted trouble coming a mile away." John said dismissively.

George watched as a detached onlooker in fascination. She had crossed swords with John in the past when she was a different person, when she was, quite frankly, doing Neil's dirty work for him as the establishment's hired mercenary but she was another person then. What struck her that, behind John's occasionally mischievous remarks, was his fixed will towards human decency and justice. She had never wanted to be impressed by these values, unlike Jo who was much more emotional about these things than she let herself be. But why, oh why did that infuriatingly attractive exasperating man screw it all up by shagging some long legged female consultant who happened to be Connie Beauchamp, a woman who to her eye was more guarded than she had ever been? Despite her conflicted feelings, she couldn't help but warm to him and stand by him , especially right now when she could feel at last the force of the political pressure on him as a real emotion. Finally, she got to intervene rather than just observe.

"Don't we get a look in?" she cut in at the decisive moment when the hubbub of male voices paused for a second.  
"What do you want, George?" Brian Cantwell snapped back with a nasty edge to his voice.  
"Only that your case seems so hopelessly compromised by the antics of your witnesses that I would be surprised to see you carry on in case you get laughed out of court by the jury"  
"We still have conclusive evidence, George in case you hadn't noticed. I demand that you back me up on this one, John"  
"Which I tore apart both this morning and yesterday"  
"Oh so you want my opinion and that we carry on with the case"  
"Nobody said that I didn't want your help, John. It's just that I feel entitled to some of the fair mindedness that you keep preaching about"  
"And, speaking for the Lord Chancellor's Department, we want no more threats of having us jailed for contempt"  
"What's wrong with that? I've done it before to one of you"  
"That's not the point"  
"In any case, you thought I was talking specifically about you. Remember the proverb 'qui s'excuse, s'accuse"  
"Oh what does that mean in plain English"  
"I was making a general observation to the entire gallery and if no one but you, Ian, responded to it then it must apply to you"  
"So this is your idea of justice, John"  
"Put it another way, if the cap fits, wear it."

"I was really wondering what all you masterful men were planning on doing with the trial. I assume that this was what we're here for." George's voice chimed in again with a sarcastic edge to her tone. "We are." Grunted Monty who was feeling a bit left out frustrated at not being able to get a word in edgeways. It was worse than he was with Vera even when she was in full flow. "I've got a bone to pick with you, John. Why the devil didn't you tell me about Barbara's previous conviction? I have a right to know such matters"  
" I didn't think it was necessary. Besides, there was quite enough of a perceived problem with a trial featuring someone who all of us knew in a private capacity, not just one or two but the entire London circuit"  
"This is shoddy behaviour. Damned shoddy and a breach of trust between us." Monty rumbled on. "What's the problem, Monty? She wasn't the only ex prisoner in the orchestra"  
"What do you mean, John?" Sir Ian asked in icy tones.  
"Just what I said, Ian. You accepted everyone who came into the orchestra who you didn't know before and they behaved themselves impeccably, In fact I can't remember them passing around malicious notes as you and your worthy confederate did like spiteful schoolboys in class until George exposed you. The truth of the matter is that her presence is simply an embarrassment to you, an acquaintance that was temporarily in your circle but there's more to it than that. She was one of us, a fellow musician that was bound to in ways that no non-musician could possibly feel and you know it. This trial has presented Monty and I and others with the exact same problem. You just haven't the guts to face it but take the easy way out just as you always do in life." John had bottled down his anger and frustration but after starting to retort in cold cutting perfectly accentuated tones he built it up to a climax of controlled anger. He couldn't help it but sometimes his impulses overcame his sense of what was judicious. Somehow, Ian's weak and spineless nature was never clearer to him as it was right then and, in typical fashion, he slipped away from any unpleasantness.

"That's as maybe, John but I am shocked at your behaviour." Monty cut in. He had taken in everything John had said but was still hurt by John's apparent lack of trust in him. "Monty, I acted as I did only to help you. I chose to shoulder the discomfort of this extra knowledge on my own, rightly or wrongly. What we have to do now is to look to the future as to how to handle this trial. The two of us have to work out a clear course of action for the future"  
Coope was used to walking the quiet cloistered corridors of the judiciary and found the atmosphere generally soothing. Even with working for a wayward though kindly master, the natural rhythms of the court helped to relax her. After all, she was on the periphery of the court dramas and a systematic organized mind was the ideal requirement and not the actorish flamboyance of the judges she worked for. What she found unusual was the confused sounds of many angry voices as she walked behind the judge's thrones. It seemed to emanate from one of the chambers and it sounded like Prime Minister's question time at its most argumentative. As she got closer, she could occasionally pick out John's voice, which reassured her in a strange fashion. At least there was some responsible person in charge if you stretched the definition to of the word to include his wayward conduct in terms of his private life. She was intending to drop a file in John's in tray but thought she might not be altogether welcome. She had a brainwave in remembering that the door didn't meet flush with the floor and that the file was thin. Crouching down, she slid the file, bit by bit under the door and, on the other side, the brown rectangular shape slid neatly into view and grew and grew to its full length. She shrugged her shoulders and reasoned that, of the gaggle of judges and barristers in the room, one of them ought to be able to take charge of it. Unfortunately, the incandescent mood found the soundless appearance of the file a meaningless irrelevance even if it had been spotted. As Coope returned to the court chamber to busy herself, Joe Channing bustled towards her, the jungle telegraph having picked up the sounds of warfare.

"We're no further forward in this meeting than we were when we started." Snapped Sir Ian. "The situation is intolerably farcical and a complete mess. I'm surprised the press don't get hold of this and feature this with the caption 'Carry On, Larkhall"  
"Except that this is no comedy, Sir Ian and what no one seems to be talking about is that a woman stands accused of the murder of her husband and that needs resolving"  
"Jo and I have been standing on the sidelines hearing some of you come out with as much hot air that would fill a huge balloon, John. We are determined that the best interests of justice and of our client are served by the trial continuing and the relevant evidence of that frightful woman be wiped from the record." "Of course, we aren't criticising you, John. From beginning to end, you have been totally masterful and in superb form." Jo chimed in, her voice oozing syrup. George's smile of appreciation at the way Jo was laying on the charm was a bit forced given the circumstances but she trusted that no one would see through her act.  
"An excellently simple solution to the dilemma. I think that we could proceed on this basis"  
"But the political consequences of this trial are frightful. For a start, we run the risk of the papers finding out our connections with the accused. I demand that there is a retrial and by a court that is as far removed from us as it is possible to be." Exploded Sir Ian.  
"So that's the game, Ian. It all comes down to saving your political skin, nothing to do with the rest of us and certainly nothing to do with the needs of justice to the accused. We cannot let this charge hang over Barbara's name for another six months or so. Yes Sir Ian, her name is Barbara Mills and just to remind you, the woman who played harpsichord with us and whose husband was so helpful and gracious to us even though he was already ill. I strongly suspect that your shadow and even you, Brian are being equally spineless." Shouted John, losing his patience again.  
"I heartily agree with John," came the well known rumbling tones from behind the group holding a large envelope." As long as the jury is ordered to disregard any such information, a retrial is not necessary. As for the matter of publicity, must we be fearful and let our actions be governed and contaminated by the gutter press. They could equally crucify us if we abandon the trial"  
"I respect your opinion, of course," Sir Ian smarmed, his face twisted by a tight smile. "But I must confess I'm worried about the possible consequences"  
"The needs of justice to the accused is paramount. In order to resolve the matter, we need a proper opinion on Barbara's health and state of mind."

A heavy silence fell on the room as tension filled the air from the clash of wills into the middle of which Coope stepped, judging that they would have fought each other into the ground and now was the time to enter the room.  
"I can see that you've got the envelope I slid under the door. I didn't want to disturb your discussions"  
"Coope, you are a marvel. Find Karen Betts and get her here now. I don't care what it takes, just do it." John pronounced in ringing tones accompanied by Joe's and Monty's nod of approval. Coope shot off and in no time at all made her way to the visitor's gallery.  
"Karen, we need your help. Can you find Nikki Wade at short notice and get her to come to the judge's chambers"  
Collective instinct left Karen to be free to deal with this one and to not ask questions. " I can try. I'll phone her on my mobile"  
In the most deliberately calm fashion, Karen fished out her mobile from her handbag and pressed the contact number.  
"I hope you've got your best suit on, because the judge wants you in chambers, right now." "What's up, Karen?" Nikki asked. She was right in the middle of working her way through her files and was totally thrown by the sudden message. "Never you mind. Just get yourself down here as soon as possible. Your presence is vital"  
"OK, I'll be right there as soon as I can"  
Nikki threw the files back into her in tray. She shrugged her shoulders and blindly accepted her destiny whatever it would be.

It was a novel sensation for Nikki to be led by Coope along the corridors behind the public staging of the theatre that was the Old Bailey. She found the other woman to be relaxing company and discreet and threaded her way to John's chambers. Immediately, she felt that the room was too small for the crowd of people and blinked her eyes. 

"Ah, Nikki. It's good of you to come here at short notice. We are at a crossroads in the trial where, without going into any detail for obvious reasons, the possibility has arisen that the trial should be abandoned and reconvened for a later date. That will involve Barbara Mills being held in remand for some months until a fresh trial date can be set and such a trial would be held in a court in a suitable venue well to the north and neither myself, nor Monty my fellow judge or any council now present would be involved. To my mind, the deciding factor is the welfare of the prisoner and I am asking your opinion as to what impact this would have on Barbara"  
Nikki took in at a glance to the emphases that John laid on particular words and realized that it had come to this, that she Nikki Wade, one time victim of the system was asked for vital input into the system's deliberations. The irony was not lost on her but she spoke out as boldly to this group of people as to any other.  
"It's totally out of the question that Barbara should suffer the stresses of waiting for months on end. I know that she has needed a lot of support to get her to this stage, not only from other prisoners but also from prison officers. Anyone who knows her would say the same. I couldn't guarentee that she would stand up under the pressure. I don't know what's going on but surely where there's a will, there's a way, judge, for the trial to continue"  
John smiled broadly and the light in his eye showed how Nikki's simple formulation cut through the fussy verbiage of so many of the others. Monty looked relieved while George and Jo smiled gratefully at her. Sir Ian and Lawrence James scowled darkly at her and Brian Cantwell studied her closely. "Well said, Nikki. That is my sentiment entirely." Rumbled Jo approvingly, impressed by her spirit and clarity of speech. "We're going ahead with the trial then. The arguments are irrefutably balanced that way, eh Monty." John pronounced firmly and decisively, looking pointedly at the dissenters while Nikki glanced round and could feel the tensions ripple round the room.

"Monty and I and doubtless others are exceedingly grateful for you coming at such short notice away from your duties. Needless to say, I am asking you to say no more of this matter until the conclusion of the trial except that tomorrow is business as usual. I anticipate that you will be questioned on the matter very soon. "I'm glad if I've helped out, judge." Nikki answered. Before she could turn for the door, Brian Cantwell stepped over and said in a nasty turn of phrase: "Is your 'opinion' just because you just conveniently happen to be a defence witness?" Without a blink of her eye, Nikki cut him down to size with a boldness that made Joe chuckle and inwardly applaud her.  
"No, it's because I'm a friend." With an elaborate gesture of looking at his watch, John said very casually.  
"Don't know about the rest of you but I happen to have a home to go to. See you all in court, bright and early"  
Nikki led the way out to pass the word to the others while the rest of the crowd started to shuffle out. It had been a long day. 


	84. Chapter 84

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Eighty-Four

When everyone had gone, Jo privately thought that she ought to have taken advantage of the cluster of leaving people in order to leave herself. On her way out with the others, George had briefly touched her shoulder and asked if she was coming. Jo had said that she was staying, but now she wished she hadn't. The only explanation she could give for her rash decision was that she was tired, stressed, and that she simply wanted a hug from her favourite man. 

John and Jo sat and looked at each other, Jo experiencing a feeling of shame at what she had done on Monday, and John feeling a distinct sense of guilt that he'd slept with Connie. "Well, that was a debacle and a half," John said with a sigh of weariness. "It was certainly unexpected," Jo agreed ruefully. Getting up from behind his desk, John walked over to her, and gently pulled her to her feet. Jo rose only too willingly, needing the warmth and comfort of his embrace as much as she had the scotch the other evening. John held her, feeling her body steadily begin to relax in his grasp. He gently rubbed her shoulders and softly kissed her cheek. "Are you all right?" He asked into her hair, though knowing she wasn't. "I am now," She said with her face against his shoulder. Putting her slightly back from him, he scrutinized her face, and saw that there were tears in her eyes. "It's not all that bad, is it?" He asked, drawing her back against him. His kind words only strove to bring far more tears to the fore, making her shake with the grief that she had tried to suppress since Monday. John let her cry, seeing that this was something she had needed to do for some time now. He murmured fond words of comfort to her, occasionally running his fingers through her hair. Gently encouraging Jo in the direction of the sofa, John forcefully buried the sickening wave of disgust at what he had willingly done on that sofa this time yesterday. Jo was his priority now, not wallowing in self-pity because he'd been well and truly caught with his pants down. They sat where he and Connie had lain, while he tried to soothe away Jo's torment. 

When she looked to be beginning to calm down, John tentatively asked, "Is this about what happened on Monday?" Gazing into his kind, concerned face, Jo saw no criticism, no disapproval at what she had done. "Did George tell you?" She asked dismally, wishing that George could have kept it to herself. "You forget that I can always see you from where I sit," He told her, bypassing her actual question. "When I saw you on Tuesday morning, you looked exactly the same as you did after Jason Powell died." John was referring to that other time she had become far too drunk. "I know it sounds stupid," She said, digging for a tissue in her handbag. "But I really didn't mean to do it. I just kept finding other things to do, probably so that I wouldn't have to think about the case and what was coming the next day." "When I came to find you on Monday," John said very carefully. "You and George were arguing. What was that all about?" "When Barbara was first arrested, and after I'd first been to see her, George tentatively tried to warn me about how difficult I would probably find this case to be. That's why she virtually insisted on acting as my junior. She took on the vast majority of the legwork, recruiting witnesses, finding out about any possible bad publicity involving the witnesses, you name it. She knew that I wanted to be able to concentrate on Barbara, so that's what she enabled me to do. I didn't want to need her help, not at first, and when she initially suggested working with me, I wasn't very nice about it. But there's honestly no way I could have put this case together so successfully without her. I never thought I would come to say this about George, but she's managed to build a rapport with some of our witnesses, that I know this time I really couldn't have achieved. Kay, Zubin, Tom, they've all talked to George far more than they ever have to me. She's gained their trust, made them share confidences with her that I don't think I could have extracted so easily. She even managed to persuade Yvonne to track down and warn off, a prostitute whom Zubin used to visit on a regular basis." John grinned. "Typical," He said ruefully, his comment meant for both George and for Yvonne. "But you really shouldn't be telling me things like that," He added, the trial protocol intruding on his thoughts as usual. "If you're going to sit there and split hairs, John," Jo said disgustedly. "Then I'll leave now." "I'd really rather you stayed," John replied quietly, his gaze soft on hers. 

Leaning slightly forward, John kissed her, tasting the tea that they'd all been drinking since reconvening in chambers. Jo was soft, gentle, and extremely familiar. What had possessed him, he thought fleetingly, to engage in a sordid, degrading, and entirely unnecessary coupling with Connie Beauchamp? Here he was, cuddling his Jo, his lips tangling deliciously with hers, and with George out there somewhere, loving him just as much as Jo did. "I love you," He said when they finally came up for air. "I'm not so sure that you should," Jo replied bleakly. "I think I've loved you ever since I met you," John told her seriously. "So I'm not about to stop now, just because you got drunk in the middle of a trial. You've done it before, and it's possible that you'll do it again. It doesn't make you a bad person, Jo." "It frightens me that I did it barely without thinking. It was as though it was a natural impulse to do it." "What you need to try to do," John told her carefully. "Is to make sure it doesn't become instinctive." "I know," Jo said quietly. "It was certainly something of a relief that she could take over like that yesterday morning," She added with a slight smile. "Talking of George's approach to cross-examination," John said with a sudden thought. "Where on earth did she uncover all that evidence about Connie Beauchamp?" "I've got absolutely no idea," Jo said fondly. "She kept her cards very close to her chest with Connie. She didn't even tell me about most of what she pulled out of the air this morning, and I'm not even convinced that she used all she had on her." 

When George descended the stairs after leaving Jo in chambers with John, she saw Karen, Yvonne and Helen waiting for her. "How did it go?" Helen asked when she reached them. "Didn't Nikki tell you?" George asked, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. "Of course she did," Yvonne said with a smile. "But you lot can change your minds at the merest whim." George laughed tiredly. "We'll continue as before, with the jury being told to disregard Sylvia's last couple of comments." "God knows what the stupid cow thought she was playing at," Said Yvonne in disgust. "Do you all fancy a cup of tea that hasn't come out of a machine?" George asked with sudden inspiration. "Court won't reconvene until tomorrow and I for one could do with a sit down." "You look knackered," Yvonne observed thoughtfully. "It's probably something to do with our lord and master giving me the run around," She said, moving towards the outside. But as she drove through the late afternoon traffic, she wondered just how long this lack of energy would last before she was forced to acknowledge its existence. 

When the four of them reached her house, George wondered what had happened to Cassie and Roisin. "They had to pick the kids up from school," Yvonne informed her. They moved into the kitchen, still talking about the cock up Sylvia had made of probably her very last court appearance. "Never mind Sylvia," Helen said without thinking. "What was that all about this morning?" George hurriedly turned her eyes away, and stared fixedly at the kettle she was filling from the tap. "I was just sharpening a few claws, that's all," She said a little shakily, part of her wanting to share her torment with these three kind hearted women, and the rest of her wanting to hide from their all too penetrating gaze. But she could feel the rising tide of emotion that couldn't be suppressed forever. She tried to blink away the tears, feeling nothing but kindness and empathy coming from these three women, standing in her kitchen as though they really were her friends. Seeing her difficulty, Karen switched off the tap and handed the kettle to Yvonne to put back on its base, and whilst Yvonne opened cupboards in an attempt to locate mugs and teabags, Karen turned George to face her. Neither Karen nor George said a word to each other, their closeness of last year negating the need for actual words. All that concerned Karen at the moment was that for some reason, George was tired, strung out, and very upset. Coming over to where they stood, Helen laid a hand on George's shoulder. "What's happened?" She asked gently, but George didn't answer, couldn't answer, couldn't put into words how she'd felt on seeing John and Connie together. But Yvonne answered for her. "She caught the Judge having it away with Connie Beauchamp." "I did wonder," Karen said quietly, softly kissing George's cheek. "Not even you will sharpen claws like that for just anyone." "They looked so perfect together," George said through her tears. "I don't think I've ever seen a couple quite so well co-ordinated. In the fairly lengthy time it took her to put her clothes back on, I was given the pleasure of scrutinizing every inch of her, and I couldn't find one, single flaw." "You're not exactly over the hill, George," Helen assured her kindly. "I feel it sometimes," George said miserably. "Don't we all," Yvonne muttered darkly, retrieving some milk from the fridge. Taking their tea into the lounge, George and Karen sat on the sofa, and Yvonne and Helen sat in armchairs. 

"So, what're you going to do about John?" Yvonne asked as she lit a cigarette. In hearing Yvonne say his actual name, Karen had to forcefully suppress the thought that Yvonne had in fact slept with him, nearly a year ago now. "What can I do?" George said despairingly. "I used to think that having both me and Jo at his beck and call was his idea of heaven, but evidently not." "Have you got any idea why he does it?" Helen asked her, seeing this as a golden opportunity for finding out about John from somebody else's point of view. "Enormous insecurity complex, coupled with an addiction to sex," George said matter-of-factly. "I've tried my damnedest over the years to curb his leaning towards women who fuck first and think later, but so far, with no success. If I hadn't had the evidence of it thrust in my face, I could have got the anger out of my system and just accepted it, as I have on most of the other occasions over the years. But seeing them together like that, it was just a bit too much. It means that you suddenly discover what they really find attractive, which doesn't appear to be you any more." "He does love you, you know," Helen said into the resulting, pain-filled silence. "John would like to believe he still does," George said resignedly. "But I'm not sure that I do." "What about Jo?" Yvonne asked. "Jo doesn't know about Connie," George said firmly. "And for the sake of this trial, if nothing else, it absolutely has to stay that way." "I do admire your idea of plain and simple justice," Karen told her with a smile. "Pushing both John and Connie to the limits of their endurance. It was priceless." "Once I'd started," George said with a weak smile of her own. "I couldn't stop. Every word she uttered made me angrier and angrier, and when John began defending her honour, I was just about ready to scratch his eyes out with my own hands." "Yeah, I saw," Yvonne said with a smirk. "Charlie and one of his Rottweilers couldn't have done any better." 

When George lifted a hand to cover yet another yawn of mental exhaustion, Karen turned her face towards her, scrutinizing it closely. "Have you stopped eating again?" She asked, before she could think better of it. "Not so as you'd notice," George replied, her body stiffening because she didn't particularly want this area of her imperfections to be broadcast to all and sundry. "I don't believe you," Karen said simply, for the moment forgetting that they had an audience. "George," Yvonne broke in gently. "Anyone could tell a mile off that you don't eat enough to keep a sparrow alive." "Really?" George replied a little bitterly. "Because I thought I covered it up quite well." "Oh, you do," Helen told her thoughtfully. "Almost too well." "It's nothing serious," George attempted to tell them. "I just find some cases more stressful than others," She added evasively. "Yeah, especially when you're working for two instead of one," Yvonne replied knowingly. "Occasionally perhaps," George said whilst trying not to meet Yvonne's eyes. 

A good while later when the three of them had left, Karen drove purposefully back to the Old Bailey. Seeing George so vulnerable and feeling so worthless had made Karen extremely angry. John had no right to do this to George, no right whatsoever. Thankfully seeing that Jo's car was no longer in the car park, meaning that she had left for home, Karen parked, and walked back in through the heavy swing doors. All was quiet at this time of day, and she walked up the stairs with her shoes warning any hiding Judge of her forceful approach. Knocking on the door to John's chambers, she realised that this was what George had probably done, before walking in on him and Connie. When he bade her to enter, she swept in with the force of a whirlwind. "How could you do that to her?" She demanded of him as he rose from behind his desk. "I see that the grapevine's been doing its stuff," John commented dryly, winding Karen up even more. "Do you have any idea how hurt she is?" Karen demanded. "No, but I suspect that you're about to tell me," John replied, still sounding calm and thoroughly self-assured. "George loves you, John," Karen told him vehemently. "Yet every bloody opportunity you get, you try your damnedest to throw it all away. Was it absolutely necessary to do this to her?" "Oh, and it was so much better when I slept with you, wasn't it," He threw back at her, unwilling to put up with any more of this after the day he'd had. Karen's face went blank, keeping from him all the hurt and guilt of that night that she still couldn't quite part with. "No, it wasn't," She said in a tight, quiet voice that touched his heart. "That was ten times worse." Knowing that they'd both said quite enough, they remained quiet until they'd calmed down a fraction. "Did she ask you to come here?" John eventually asked, now sounding back in control of himself. "No," Karen admitted with a slight smile. "And she'd have a fit if she knew I had." "I do feel bad about sleeping with Connie," He told her, and she could see the guilt and worry for George shining out of his eyes. "Yes, I know you do," Karen replied tiredly. "And George really did a number on the pair of you this morning, didn't she." "I was almost proud of her," John was forced to admit. "But I doubt that it's got it out of her system, not by a long way." 


	85. Chapter 85

Part Eighty-Five

Connie Beauchamp brushed aside Will Curtis' insistent questioning with ill concealed irritation as to why she was taking time away from St Mary's Hospital.  
"You have always complained that I cramp your style when I'm here. You can enjoy your freedom - just for one day"  
"So when can everyone expect you back, Connie?" He enquired in his usual cold, aloof fashion. She watched him closely scrutinize her to try and figure out the nature of her mysterious errand. Well, Will Curtis, you can guess a million times and you'll be wrong every time, she smiled to herself and deliberately paused for maximum effect before replying. "You know I had a very interesting conversation with the defence barrister. It taught me such a lot that I needed to know. Bye Will." Was her parting shot before she floated out the door and Will's feet were too stuck to the floor to move him to pursue her non-answer. He was out of her sight and her mind in moments as met the sharp fresh air. Her smile faded as she reached for her car keys as she suspected that the purpose of her visit was not going to be a laughing matter. The deal she had struck with George could end up seriously derailing her judgment of the situation to her discomfort. For once in her life, she was dressed inconspicuously and she slipped into the end seat on a row of the visitor's gallery entirely on her own, just below two smartly dressed men on the top row.

John stopped short of administering the most emphatic instruction to the jury that his eloquence could summon up as Jo attracted his attention.  
"My Lord, there is a point of law I want to raise which is crucial to the evidence my next witness is permitted to raise"  
"Clear the court." John immediately ordered. He strongly suspected what was to come and in the time taken for the jury and the visitors to make their exit, started to formulate his own thoughts. By the time Jo was ready to speak, the courtroom looked larger and barer than normal, like an empty theatre on a Saturday matinee performance. "My Lord, late yesterday, you will recall very prejudicial evidence tendered by the prosecution witness about the defendant's previous stay in Larkhall which you rightly cut short"  
"I think that is a somewhat understated description of what happened." John said dryly.  
"It goes without saying that the circumstances that gave rise to the defendant being admitted to Larkhall on a previous occasion cannot be mentioned in any shape or form"  
"I am about to give a very clear instruction to the jury on that very point"  
"What complicates the situation is that I was intending to ask my witness as to the circumstances in which she first met her late husband and came to marry him. This took place when my client was previously an inmate and he was the then prison chaplain. It is material to the background to their relationship and forms a central plank in the case for the defence. I was going to request that my client's previous spell in Larkhall would be admissible but only in the area that I have marked out"  
"So Jo, you want to morally have your cake and eat it." Brian Cantwell observed.  
"No Brian, you prefer to get your cake by subterfuge. All I am trying to do is extricate the trial from the mess that your last witness landed us in," flashed back Jo.  
"Enough." John cut in. "I see the force of the submission but these are complex matters and I wish to confer with my fellow judge and give you our judgment on the matter."

"Well, what do you think, Monty"  
"It's damned difficult. The background to Barbara's marriage to Henry is, of course, important and her marriage cannot be presented as having materialised out of thin air. On the other hand, once we admit the matter of Barbara's time in Larkhall, then there are dangers. The trial is already in danger of becoming a grudge match especially after the events of last night. Once this concession is made, it is all too easy that the boundaries we set might slip. I am conscious that the beady eyes of the Lord Chancellor's Department are fixed on us"  
"You get used to that, Monty. The point is do we have any choice on the matter"  
"I have misgivings, John. We stand on a slippery slope but at the end of the day, Jo's submission gives us a tenable basis for proceeding. We must hold our nerve"  
"Thanks, Monty." John said quietly but with great feeling "Are all your cases as difficult as this, John?" Monty said after a pause for reflection. "I've always thought in the past that you've always sought out trouble but now I'm beginning to feel that that it stalks you"  
John laughed heartily in appreciation of Monty's succinct and sympathetic summing up. Because he had long inhabited his world of politically and personally contentious cases, he had become hardened to the pressures and took them for granted. He stood up, tapped Monty on his shoulder before returning to the courtroom.  
"I confess that I am perhaps remiss in not anticipating the crisis that blew up yesterday. Nevertheless, it has enabled us to deliberate and set firm limits on the case and, after careful thought, we propose to adopt the submission offered by the defence council. I would, however, strongly warn against the slightest suggestion of extending the scope of investigations into the defendant's previous stay in Larkhall beyond the strict limit of her relationship with her late husband. Any transgressions of this ruling will be dealt with exemplary severity. This will be put to the jury and I shall direct the jury to utterly disregard the previous witnesses last remarks as if they had never existed."

If it weren't for what only she knew, George reflected bitterly, she would not have read a deeper meaning into John's modest confession of temporary lack of foresight. How much is he really aware of this wider context, she wondered?

After the jury and the visitors had sat themselves down, John slowly transferred his gaze from Brian Cantwell, to Greg and Amanda and finally looked boldly at Sir Ian and Lawrence James who stared into the general distance. His glance slid rapidly away from Connie who was frozen in space like a statue.

"For the benefit of the jury, a point of law has been raised by council following the disturbance following the last witness' appallingly prejudicial comments which smack of lynch law rather than evidence suitable for a court of law. Our judgment is that you should entirely disregard the content as if it had never been. When you finally come to make your deliberations, you must focus your minds entirely on the charge under which the defendant is being tried. You will hear evidence as the trial proceeds that the defendant was an inmate in Larkhall on a previous occasion but only on restricted terms that council will set out in cross examination. Any slightest reference as to how the defendant came to be there will be punished by us with exemplary severity. If I have anything to do with it, the culprit and will be held on remand for contempt of court and criminal charges to be brought."

Jo rose to her feet with a touch more colour in her cheeks than there had been. The double act that she had performed with George and the reassurance of sorts that John had given her last night had a steadying effect and, this time, George was content to sit this one out. She saw Barbara before her, pale and nervous and she felt beholden to give her strength and support in her questioning before Brian Cantwell took over. She smiled at her, hoping that the meetings with Barbara over these past months would clarify her thoughts.

"Barbara, I have no doubt that you fully understand what the judge has said concerning what you can give evidence on. For the benefit of the court, can you explain how you came to meet your husband?"

"I have been an inmate at Larkhall prison on a previous occasion. I have been a churchgoer all my life and I had secured the duties of organist at the chapel. Henry Mills became the new prison chaplain at Larkhall prison and circumstances drew us together in the natural course of events. We had also both been widowed and lonely and a perfectly natural friendship grew up between us as we both keenly felt the loss of our respective partners. I knew that Henry was a shy, self effacing man and we realized over time and many conversations that we had much in common. Over the passage of time, such close friendship blossomed into love." "Why and in what circumstances did you come to get married"  
"There were certain difficulties one of which was the initial opposition of the church and another was Henry's family who took an unreasoning prejudice against me. We finally married shortly before I was released"  
"I notice that you have not mentioned Henry's attitude to you being an inmate? Was that never a problem and if so, can you explain why"  
"The thought had literally never crossed my mind or Henry's." Barbara replied after a pause, blinking with surprise at such a question. "From the very start, Henry accepted me for the woman that I was. He had no foolish notion of trying to reclaim some fallen woman. It was as if we were made to be together."

"Could you give the court a brief picture of what your life was like together before Henry became ill"  
"It was heaven." Barbara smiled. "Henry secured a vicarage at Chipping Ongar, a delightful village in the country just outside London. The church was idyllic as some of you may recall. The vicarage was charming and the garden was delightful. We settled into a pattern of life where Henry busied himself in. I played the organ for church services and helped Henry out with his sermons. I performed all the wifely duties that a vicar's wife would do to support her husband. I needed nothing else in this world and I know that Henry felt the same. We felt as if our marriage made both of us feel whole"  
Jo wiped a slight tear from her eye before she continued. For one second she wished that if only her own life had been less complicated. Brian Cantwell fumed silently at the way Jo Mills had expertly gilded the lily and vowed to exact his revenge.  
"What were the types of situations that would have caused you to have cross words with each other"  
"If Henry had a fault, he was too gentle and not assertive with those who put unreasonable demands on him. He regarded all troubled souls as his flock to be encouraged. I can remember one incident when that frightful woman, Sylvia Hollamby conceived what I could only best describe as a schoolgirl crush on him and pushed herself on him. I had to make it clear to her that he was not in the slightest interested in her. I reproved him for not facing up to telling her what had to be said. To make it worse, she was a long serving prison officer at Larkhall Prison."

A pin could have dropped in the court and would have been heard in the intense silence as Barbara spoke with heated animation as if the events happened yesterday. A huge grin split the faces of Gina on one side of her and Dominic on the other and the humour of the situation could be seen on the faces of Yvonne, Crystal and Roisin in the gallery. Behind them, Connie listened with intense concentration and an open mind.

"Excuse me, if I may, I have a couple of questions for the defendant." John jumped in quickly which Jo conceded to with a tolerant sigh, as she knew only too well how insatiable his curiosity was. "Was Mrs. Hollamby in any way jealous and resentful of you because your husband preferred you over her"  
"Insanely jealous, my lord. We were never on the best of terms to begin with and this made matters ten times worse"  
"What was the reason for this ill feeling"  
Barbara paused for a moment and collected her thoughts.  
"I confess that I did not like her because her attitude towards prisoners was harsh and Victorian. I think it would be true to say that I ran up against her because she took particular exception to me being an inmate and also well spoken and a Christian. "  
"My Lord, the testimony from the defendant is sheer conjecture and hearsay." Brian Cantwell interjected.  
"I would allow your point if it weren't for the fact that Mrs. Hollamby had been offered full opportunity to testify on this matter but neglected to do so. Her silence upon the matter is very eloquent. I'm going to dispose of one matter at this convenient point in time and address the jury directly on a point of law. I need no submissions from either counsel. I'm going to direct that when you, the jury make your deliberations that you ignore totally the entire evidence provided by Mrs. Hollamby. It is so tainted, so compromised that it is not worth the air it is breathed upon. It has lost any credibility whatsoever. It is fortunate for the prosecution that it does not interconnect with other witness evidence or else the entire body of the prosecution case would be brought crashing to the ground in total ruination." "Appreciative as I am for the vividness of your metaphors, I merely wish to ask you which case you want to take over, the defence or prosecution or both?" Brian Cantwell asked in exasperation at John foreseeing the dangers of John carried away in full oratorical flow. While John laughed heartily, Monty looked studiously at his papers.  
"Not this time, Mr. Cantwell. Please continue, Jo." Behind the collective amusement from the front row of the visitor's gallery, Connie was smiling with appreciation at John's performance. She couldn't say what impressed her more, his sheer theatricality behind which she could feel his very alert mind or the very outrageous way he was willing to push at the boundaries of professional etiquette in every way. She could readily identify with his strong inclination to customize his profession to his own specifications. "Did you keep in contact with friends that you had made in prison?" Jo continued, smiling broadly.  
"Oh yes, within the limits of a busy vicar's wife. It was easy to keep in touch with friends who were released round about the same time as I was. It was harder with friends who remained on the inside but I know now from meeting them again that at least we were in each other's thoughts"  
"At any point during your marriage to Henry Mills, did you keep a diary"  
"Oh yes." "Was this a new pastime, or was it something you had done from before you met Henry"  
"I've always kept a diary throughout my life. It has helped me collect my thoughts, in times of happiness and in times of trouble." "Did Henry himself ever keep a diary"  
"Yes, he did." "Did you ever read each other's diaries, just as a matter of interest"  
"We never needed to." Barbara smiled. "We both accepted that each other had private feelings, emotions, to be committed to a diary but we were confident enough in our love that there was no need to be insecure and intrusive." "How involved were you with Henry's work as a vicar"  
"Heavily involved. His work meant that part of his duties were mine, something which I was glad to shoulder." "How would you describe your marriage as a whole"  
"Blissfully happy. I thought that it would never end"  
At this point, Barbara's voice, which had remained steady throughout her testimony, trembled as she was brought face to face with the reality, which some portion of her mind still strove to deny. Curiously enough, Jo's gentle voice didn't make it any easier. She dabbed at her eyes with a small white pocket handkerchief. "I miss him so much." She added.  
"I think now would be a convenient time to break for lunch." John announced to Jo's relief. It would give Barbara a chance to gather her strength for the more grueling part of her testimony.

While everyone else dispersed, Gina and Dominic escorted Barbara to a small side room. Hardly had they shut the door then they both gave voice, having nobly restrained their intense curiosity.  
"Hey, Barbara, you never told us about Sylvia making an idiot of herself." "Yeah, Babs, Tell us more. I'll fetch you a cup of tea, just the way you like it"  
"Some might sell their honour for thirty pieces of silver." Barbara joked, a slight twinkle in her eye and a suspicion of a smile.  
"Who's talking about selling anything?" cajoled Gina.  
"But I'll tell you for free but mind you that my cup of tea is nice and hot. It all started this way…….." Barbara started. Her mind lightened as she first related how Sylvia had prevailed on Henry's charitable desire to help someone in distress after her Bobby had died and the final absurd scene when the altar in the chapel was disarranged. She smiled to herself as the mild farce unreeled itself in her mind and in Gina's and Dominic's broad grins. It gave her that necessary lift in her spirits.

Jo glanced at Barbara and was pleasantly surprised to see that she was less nervous than when she first took the stand and sensed that Gina and Dominic weren't so much keeping guard on her but standing protectively either side of her.

" I now turn to events which I am sure you will find very painful to relate so please take as much time to reply that you feel comfortable with, Barbara. Can you explain to the court what was your initial reaction when Henry became ill"  
"Henry had been to his GP as he had been continually coughing but when he started complaining about having no energy, I started getting seriously worried. That wasn't like him no matter how tired he got. I still remember that day we saw Mrs. Beauchamp. She was so kind and concerned for us and I could tell that she hated to be brutal about the matter as she might have been"  
Connie sat motionless as the middle-aged woman with a lifetime's experience described her with so much sympathy and understanding. She hadn't taken her in at the time as she had faded unobtrusively into the background. How could she have possibly have overlooked her, she asked herself with a twinge of guilt? "………words like 'palliative care and increasing levels of pain relief' floated past me. It took me a long time to realize that she was telling us that Henry was dying." "What was Henry's reaction to his illness?" "I think he was shocked as I was but he found it hard to put it into words. I found it hard to take everything in myself. I'm sorry for sounding vague." Barbara answered, stumbling over her words to Connie's intense feelings of sympathy for her plight. She was more and more conscious that she might have made something of a snap judgment.

Jo could see the way that Barbara was struggling and she was perilously aware that her own memories were becoming dangerously entangled. George was casting an anxious sidelong glance from where she was sitting, her blue eyes willing Jo the strength to continue. In that split second, Jo lighted on a mode of dispassionate thinking, which would best help her client and was true compassion.

"If it might help both the witness and the court, I would like to draw your attention to the bundle of evidence being the first extract from Henry Mills' diary. This has been authenticated and has the advantage of being written contemporaneously as the tragic events unfolded……. "………So God's purpose is not to let me live my threescore years and ten. I had hoped to live out many years with my dear wife. I have given comfort to my late first wife and often to parishioners in their troubles and I ought to know what to say, what to think but I dare not put it into words. I would be foolish to pretend that I won't be frightened as I can feel myself slowly but surely getting weaker. What troubles me most is the effect on my dear wife, Barbara and that I won't be around to comfort her when she needs me……"

"I can hear Henry speaking those words to me." Barbara answered in a tremulous voice.  
"What made you decide to care for Henry at home?" Jo continued in a firmer, more reassuring tone of voice much to George's relief. George had been concerned that both women would last the course from when this session started. "The choice was presented to us of Henry becoming an in patient or of being looked after at home. I knew how attached Henry was to his home surroundings and I hated to have him removed far away from me. He felt the same." "Was this a joint decision, and how did Henry feel about it"  
"We discussed it as we discussed everything to do with us. His only worry was if I could cope with looking after him"  
"Were there any times, when you doubted your ability to continue caring for him at home"  
"Quite frankly, I did. There were times when I could sense that he would get gradually weaker and his illness difficult to deal with but I just carried on." "Was this something you ever discussed with him?" "No, never." Barbara said firmly. "I would not have wanted to let him know of my own fears in case that would burden him with guilt. He knew me well enough not to press me on the matter. It was an understood matter between us, like a lot that went on in our marriage." "As the day of Henry's death approached, were your stress levels exponentially increased?" "I seemed to float in a sea of tiredness and just struggling on. I did not despair as I was taught that giving way to despair is not actually a sin as such but letting yourself down and your loved one. I seemed to forget that there was ever another world except in ministering to a dying man and both of us continuing for as long as we could. His pain was mine"  
"Did Henry ever suggest to you that he had thoughts of doing what he eventually did"  
"There was never any suggestion of this. Even in my frame of mind, I am pretty sure that I would have known if he had any thought of taking his own life." Barbara's tired but clear response was clearly articulated.

"Again it might help if I read the second extract from Henry Mills' diary in the bundle of evidence." '……….So all the philosophizing about death has come to this. All I can think is that every breath I take is damned painful and I am utterly helpless. I know that my hour of going cannot be long in coming but every minute is stretched out in eternity. I can sometimes see Barbara's troubled face all around me but a lot of the time the morphine fogs my thinking. Only when that starts to wear off can I think more clearly but then I'm in agony and praying for some kind of deliverance. I feel guilty as it sounds selfish. I must persevere for a little while yet……'

"Precisely what were you doing, immediately prior to discovering that Henry had died? "I'd gone downstairs to make a cup of tea for the two of us. It was a sort of ritual we'd clung to like a fragment of normality. I felt that he was safe to leave as he was resting, half awake"  
"What was your initial reaction, to realising that Henry had killed himself?" "The memories are patchy. I can clearly remember that he was peacefully sleeping in his bed and I very gently touched him to wake him up but he didn't move. It was only by degrees that I realized that he wasn't breathing. After that, I remember looking at the quilt and I remember thinking that the quilt was disarranged. I was staring at that quilt for ages and something took my attention to the bedside table and I realized that the syringe was missing, the one that I always kept ready and contains the morphine for Henry. It wasn't until I went to the side to straighten the quilt that I saw the syringe sticking out of Henry's leg. It was then that I broke down. I don't know what happened next for a while.……."

Barbara's voice trained off and again, she reached for her handkerchief. It was fortunate for Jo that it happened as she needed as long to collect herself as Barbara did. She knew how Barbara through her nerve endings, not what she saw or heard. She remembered.

"Did you expect Henry to die on the day that he did?" Jo continued in a surprisingly firm tone of voice.  
"Definitely not. Neither of us thought in terms of his death, just in him staying alive until his Maker sent for him which was not yet"  
"What did you do, when you realised what he had done?" "I phoned for the ambulance immediately. I know it seems irrational but I wanted someone else to say that he was dead, not me"  
" How did you feel, when the police charged you with Henry's murder?" "Like the bottom had dropped out of my world. It was bad enough that Henry had died so unexpectedly but to be arrested for his murder seemed like a nightmare I wanted to wake up from but couldn't"  
Connie was starting to live that nightmare also. George was right. All those firmly held opinions were surely and finally dissolved away this quietly convincing testimony and the shocking contrast in the two diary excerpts. She prayed that her evidence would be finally discounted. She could live with a knock to her professional pride but not if her ability to convince and persuade had disastrous consequences for an innocent woman. 


	86. Chapter 86

A/N: The quote from Anna comes from Patricia Cornwell's The Last Precinct. Betaed by Jen. 

Part Eighty Six

Immediately court had adjourned, and after checking that Barbara was in the safe hands of Gina and Dominic, George took Jo home, seeing that she needed some plain and simple looking after. Jo didn't say a word as they drove to George's house, because she felt as though every shred of energy she'd had at the beginning of the day, had entirely drained away. "You did well today, darling," George told her as she opened the front door. "Let's hope it works," Jo said dryly. "Because I don't especially want to go through that again in a hurry." "Are you kidding?" George asked in surprise. "Brian was practically crying into his papers by the end of it. He might try and score a few points tomorrow, but already we've got him on the hop. So, if he wants to achieve anything at this stage, he'll be forced to jump rather high." Jo smiled, picturing the image of Brian Cantwell attempting to leapfrog over the front bench. "That's better," George told her, putting her arms round Jo and kissing her. "I've wanted to see that smile all day." "It feels like a very long time since I had you in my arms," Jo said softly into George's hair, also having noticed a slight reticence in her lately. George's body stiffened. "It's not a criticism, just an observation," Jo assured her. "I'm sorry," George said, feeling a little foolish. "I'm not sure what's wrong with me at the moment." This was a whopper of a lie, but Jo fortunately fell for it. "I think you've just forgotten how to relax," Jo said matter-of-factly. "Probably," George admitted tiredly. "Would you like me to help you relax?" Jo asked, looking deep into George's eyes, her meaning only too clear. "Oh, and just what would this form of relaxation involve?" George asked, her lips curving up into a smile. "I don't know," Jo said thoughtfully. "Though a hot bath and a glass of wine might be a good start." "Sounds wonderful," George groaned theatrically, thinking that some highly charged relaxation wouldn't do her any harm in the slightest. 

When they were reclining side by side in the bath, with two glasses of Chablis to hand, Jo also began to let go of some of the stresses and strains that had crept up on her over this week. "I'm sorry that I've been so unprofessional this week," She said, after taking a sip from her glass. "What's important, Jo," George tried to reassure her. "Is that neither Barbara nor the court has noticed." "You've been looking out for me all week," Jo said gratefully. "When I can't help thinking that it's you who needs a bit of looking after." "Oh, I'm all right," George said, even sounding unconvinced to herself. "You've been arguing with John, haven't you," Jo said simply. "What makes you say that?" George asked her warily. "Oh, come on, George," Jo said disbelievingly. "What was your performance of yesterday morning all about if it wasn't a row you'd had with John. You nearly risked being banged up for contempt, again, and you haven't done that for a very long time." "It's not something I wish to discuss," George replied curtly, sounding almost formal in her response. "Which tells me that it's definitely something important," Jo pursued relentlessly. "Jo, you won't get this out of me for love nor money," George promised her. "So please, don't even try." "Why?" Jo asked, still sounding completely reasonable. "Because I said so," George replied firmly. "Subject closed." Knowing an immovable object when she saw one, Jo desisted in her probing. "And this was supposed to make both of us relax," Jo said ruefully. "It's all right," George said fondly, gently kissing her, and wanting to banish any hint of argument between them. "You're so beautiful," Jo said in wonder, as she traced the curve of George's right breast. "You're looking through rose tinted specs," George told her with a sardonic smile. "But the thought is appreciated." Their kisses were gentle, their hands soft as they moved over each other's skin. Their bodies were becoming so familiar to the other by now, that they each were learning their favoured pleasure points, making their loving almost second nature to them. When two sets of delicate fingers slid tenderly between legs, they both knew that this more than any verbal utterance was the most truthful expression of how they felt about each other. This tantalising of each other's bodies, the pure erotic pleasure they received from touching each other so intimately, was what gave them the private warmth and indulgence that didn't need to always involve John. 

A good while later, when they were downstairs preparing a meal of chicken, rice and stir-fry, they heard a key turn in the front door. George had given Kay a spare key to her house so that she could come and go as she pleased while she was there. It was just after six, and when Kay appeared in the kitchen doorway, she looked tired but happy, almost high on pure excitement. "You look like you had a good day," George observed with a smile. "Yes, you could say that," Kay agreed, unable to suppress her own smile of pleasure. "How did it go in court?" She asked, realising that Jo's and George's day might have been anything but good. "Not too bad," Jo informed her. "Barbara did extremely well." After going upstairs to drop off her briefcase and to get changed, Kay rejoined them in the kitchen, sitting down at the scrubbed wood table. "So, what did you get up to that was quite so enlightening?" George asked, putting a plate of food down in front of her, as Jo refilled their glasses and poured one for Kay. "Well," Kay said, after taking a mouthful of food. "Tom came down to the morgue late this morning with some relatives, and he asked me whether or not I was busy this afternoon, and as I wasn't particularly, he asked me if I wanted to observe a heart and lung transplant that he would be performing if the organs arrived in time." "I take it you accepted," Jo said with a smile at Kay's exuberance. "Like a shot," Kay agreed. "It's far too many years since I was in an operating room, and I couldn't resist. Zubin was also there doing his stuff, as was the cardiothoracic registrar." "Will Curtis," George filled in for Jo's benefit. "He was the one who gave me so much dirt on Connie Beauchamp." "He's not the nicest man I've ever met," Kay said with a slight frown. "Insists on proving his own skill whilst refusing to learn from a higher authority. Anyway, when it came to putting in the new heart and lungs, Tom invited me to assist, which didn't please Mr. Curtis one bit. So, there I was, holding the new organs in place while Tom put in the stitches, and it felt incredible. Tom then allowed me to suture the intercostal muscles, saying that he wanted to see what I was made of." "Typical," George said with a laugh. "And I trust you showed him precisely what you are made of?" "I think so," Kay said a little abashed. "Then, when he began giving the internal massage to get the new heart beating properly, and to know that I'd been part of that, it gave me the biggest non-sexual high that I think I've ever had. It might have simply been that just for a while, I was allowed to step off my own world, and walk around in someone else's. But whatever it was, I'd do it again any day." 

Smiling at her enthusiasm, Jo asked, "What made you go into forensic pathology in the first place?" "I wanted to find out everything that a person was able to tell me after death," Kay said simply. "When a person survives either a horrific injury or a debilitating illness, they usually have a voice. The only voice available to the dead is someone who does what I do. I interpret the words of the dead, because they cannot speak for themselves." "We could use that," George said thoughtfully. "When you're on the stand next week." "Has anyone else ever placed such a description on your profession?" Jo asked. Crunching on a piece of mange tout, Kay thought about this. Then her brain clicked back into action. It had been after the night that Chandonne had broken into her house, when she'd been staying with Anna. Being a psychiatrist, Anna Zenner had taken her through several afternoons or evenings of questions and answers, trying to provoke Kay into allowing herself to feel, instead of always forcing herself to think. "A psychiatrist friend of mine once told me, that I am the doctor who hears the dead, the doctor who sits at the bedside of the dead." "Remember that," George said in awe. "Because the jury will love every word of it." "Did this psychiatrist friend of yours have any other pearls we might use?" Jo asked, wishing that they could have had the services of this woman for Barbara. "We once talked about how I restrict the level of imagination I put into my work, because if I didn't, it would be far too easy for me to know what they felt at the point of death. Anna said that if I could possibly allow that imagination to take hold in front of a jury, to enable me to conjure up for them what a person may have thought and felt before their death, it would win the case for me every time." Taking a sip of her wine, Jo regarded Kay thoughtfully. "Do you think you could do that with this jury? Make them feel the agonising desperation that Henry Mills must have felt, in order to take his own life?" "I guess I could try," Kay said quietly. "Though it won't be very easy for your client to listen to." 


	87. Chapter 87

Part Eighty-Seven

Brian Cantwell had mixed feelings when it came to cross-examining Barbara Mills as he could not but remember the modest unassuming way that she and her husband contributed to the success of "the Creation." He wouldn't deny that he had thoroughly enjoyed the event. However, that was his hobby and he lived off his profession. As such, he saw himself as a 'hired gun' sometimes taking cases from the CPS or otherwise, if wealthy clients waved large enough cheques in his face even if they were coloured. He had no strong convictions except in furthering his career and did not get emotional about cases like Jo Mills did. Nevertheless, he had crossed swords with her in the past and knew that she needed watching. True, he could simulate outrage, moral or otherwise when it came to it, but this was just one of the tricks of the trade which were very lucrative and not to be sneezed at. He curses his fate that he had ever placed faith in Mrs. Hollamby who had been so categorical in her opinion of the defendant that he had let himself be swayed by her. He would not make that mistake again. He had lost ground badly after that fiasco and resolved to make up lost ground one way or another. He could not afford any sentimental considerations.

"I seem to be placed in a quandary in addressing the defendant as 'Mrs. Mills' when she has a namesake in court who is the opposing council"  
"The thought occurred to me, Mr.Cantwell. The simple answer is to address the defendant as Mrs. Mills and your opposing counsel as Jo." John jovially advised, pleased to see a bit of pleasant banter in the courtroom.  
"I thank you, my lord." He smiled but George was sharp enough to spot the fact that while his lips were smiling, his eyes weren't. 

"My first question is quite simple." He started in easy languid tones. "Why should the court, believe you to be not guilty of the crime you are accused of?" The question was a severe jolt to Barbara, which turned out to be fortunate as George leapt to her feet and spoke just before Jo could get in the act.  
"Objection, my Lord. Would I be right to say that the onus is on the prosecution to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty of the offence which she is charged with or has the entire contents of criminal law been turned upside down while my back has been turned"  
"You are, of course right, Ms. Channing but this is only one question in the trial and does not govern the trial itself. I for one would be interested to hear her answer"  
"But this is a scandalous…" Jo started to say.  
"This is my decision. I have ruled"  
"You contrary infuriating man." George muttered under her breath. Barbara's shock turned into controlled anger at the sheer cheek of the question and she took fire.  
"You ask me why the court should think I am innocent. Well, the answer's obvious. I'm innocent. I have no earthly motive for taking my poor Henry's life and every reason to preserve it as long as was possible. I thought I'd made it quite clear that I had hated and feared the prospect of losing him while he was dying more than anything else"  
"You tell them, Babs." Yvonne yelled in her carrying voice, her gaze glaring full into John's sight and daring him to reprove her.  
"Will that satisfy you, Mr. Cantwell?" drawled George. Ah well, she thought, two wrongs aren't so bad in relation to one if yours cancels out your opponent's unfair advantage.  
"Can we have some order please and let Mr. Cantwell continue"  
"I thank you for your intervention. Can you explain for the benefit of the court what were Henry's views on the issue of suicide"  
"Henry considered that a suicide was deserving of pity, not blame, in terms of the desperation into which the poor creature had sunk. However, I sense that what you are really asking is how he would have reacted in terms of his own terminal illness"  
"Go on, Mrs. Mills." Brian Cantwell was forced to reply while Jo and George looked in admiration at the Barbara's spirited response.  
"Henry was a wise man but very self effacing. Part of the reason is that he was aware of how much he did not know. For instance, he believed that he should endure what burdens God laid upon him, no matter how extreme they became. For all that he knew that there were situations, which he could not foresee how he might react. He trusted that God would show him the right course but that was his faith, not his knowledge"  
"So that the long and the short of it, Mrs. Mills is that you do not know if he would have taken his own life." Brian Cantwell pursued with a touch of irritation.  
"Yes. But I have faith that Henry would have done what was right." Barbara smiled, her eyes focused up into the court ceiling. It was as if she could see and hear him. "Did it never occur to you, to help Henry out of his pain, even when it became as extreme as it no doubt did become"  
"No, Mr. Cantwell.Quite apart from the reasons I have given you, I had been in prison before as has been mentioned and nothing on earth would have made me risk returning to prison." "What would you have done had you thought that Henry might commit suicide"  
"That never crossed my mind so the question didn't arise. Mind you, I was getting gradually worn down as his illness progressed "During the time you were married to Henry, did you find him to be a mentally strong, or a mentally weak man?" "Does the fact that someone may have committed suicide, mean that they are necessarily a mentally weak person?" Barbara retorted sharply.  
"I am asking the questions, not you, Mrs. Mills. I repeat my question, during the time you were married to Henry, did you find him to be a mentally strong, or a mentally weak man"  
"A very strong man"  
Barbara's determined voice cut through the court and made Brian Cantwell hesitate. He had pressed her hard yet she had resisted with a steely determination that he had not expected. Jo and George watched with glee as they had been opposing counsels a number of years back and were fully aware what Barbara could do when roused and Brian Cantwell had done just that with his very first question. He pretended to look at his papers and asked his next question slowly and deliberately.  
"When you discovered that Henry was dead, why didn't you call the police"  
"What I did do was to phone 999 as far as I can remember. I asked for the ambulance as I needed someone medical to be around just in case there was the faint hope that I was wrong and Henry could be saved. It sounds ludicrous but that was all I thought of at the time. It never entered my head to call the police. You don't in a situation when you've just lost your loved one like that." "I see." Brian Cantwell said reflectively, not being able to think of an answer to that one." Let me ask you another question. Why did you leave, a refilled syringe on the bedside table, well within reach of your husband's hand"  
"I was up and down stairs all the time and waking up in the night more and more as I lay beside him as he needed morphine to get him through the night. I got into a routine in preparing the next morphine syringe to replace the one I had used as some sort of routine to keep me functioning and also to be ready for Henry. It was the easiest place to leave it. I never expected him to use it on himself"  
"Have you ever considered since his death, that your leaving that syringe well within Henry's reach, directly led to his death"  
Barbara hesitated for the first time she took the stand to fully consider the matter. Then she spoke in slow deliberate tones that became more tremulous as she went on.  
"I accept that I had never foreseen that Henry could or would use the syringe and that where I placed the syringe enabled him to take his own life. That thought has haunted me every day since then. I can only think that some sudden impulse made him act that way but I can only grieve for him.He knows wherever he is that forgiveness isn't the right word as there is nothing that Henry had ever done that I have had to forgive him for"  
Brian Cantwell was silent. He had thrown his last shot from his locker and, besides, he had no heart to pursue the matter further. Indeed, what could he say"  
"I have no more questions, my lord." He concluded in a subdued tone.  
"My next witness is not available." Jo added.  
"In this case, I find that this is a convenient place to adjourn the hearing till Monday morning." John added.  
Gina and Dominic held fairly firmly onto Barbara as they sensed that her legs were made of rubber and escorted her out of the court while Jo and George breathed huge sighs of relief and could relax as the weekend was here. 


	88. Chapter 88

Part Eighty Eight

The middle aged woman dressed in her smartest clothes was flanked by the two figures who were clearly dressed in the uniform of the prison service but, in reality, Barbara was glad for the two of them to show her the way to go home, or what passed for home. The run up to her trial as well as two grueling days on the stand had drained her. She had said her piece and now she felt tired and utterly drained and just wanted to get away from here. Gina and Dominic respected her silence and courteously made way for her to get in the back seat of the car. The winter sky was dull and overcast to match her mood "I could do with a nice cup of tea." Barbara said at length as the scenery of inner city London whizzed past outside their windows "The Julies will get one special for you when we get back"  
Barbara made no reply to Dominic but settled down into her seat and waited to be taken back. Gina and Dominic maintained a silence that they hoped would be companionable and escorted her back onto the wing.

"You want your usual cup of tea, Barbara"  
Nikki took one look at her and was relieved to see that Barbara had clearly not been taken to pieces by the opposing barrister. She just looked very tired and weary and smiled politely at the greeting. "Yes please and, if you don't mind, I would prefer to go to my cell and have a lie down"  
The Julies caught Nikki's eye and mouthed back their answer.  
"I'll see you later sometime." While Denny bustled up to sit with her in the canteen, Nikki moved towards the PO's room after Gina and Dominic. Fortunately, the room was empty.  
"How did Barbara get on"  
"Their barrister tried to get smart with her and got her back up. She made a right clown out of him but……." Dominic volunteered, his grin fading as he realized that the fierce interrogation had forced her to face very painful memories.  
"….that doesn't mean that that wanker didn't get to her. She's been dead quiet on the way back"  
"More so than on the way there, Gina?" "I'd say, yeah, even with worrying at what that bastard would throw at her"  
"Just to be on the safe side, we'd better put Barbara on fifteen minutes suicide watch." Nikki pronounced the thought for all of them and they nodded in agreement.  
"Tell you what, give me half an hour so I can clear some work out of the way and I'll pop in and sit in with Barbara for a bit. It'll give some of you will get a bit of a break tonight"  
"Thanks, Nikki"  
They appreciated Nikki's little gestures of good will and that, like Karen before her, she wasn't afraid to muck in whenever it seemed right.

"Do you reckon we should pop in on Babs. She needs her friends around her"  
"She may just want some shuteye. Let's face it, Ju, she ain't going to have a decent night's sleep last night, now would she, Ju"  
"Reckon you're right, Ju. So what do we do"  
"I ain't reckoned that far yet. We ought to see her." Julie Saunders concluded not very convincingly.

At this point Nikki was on her rounds and caught half an ear to the conversation.  
"Julies. Want to help me out"  
"If it's cleaning up the landings, they've been done over the other day." Julie Saunders jumped in hastily.  
"Nothing like that, Julie. I mean Barbara. I'm going in to see her right now and it might be a good idea for you to come along a bit later on and help me out. The prison officers know about it." "Oh well then. Count us in." Julie Saunders answered, a growing smile on her lips. It was great that someone like Nikki was around to take over and come up with the good ideas, she thought." Half an hour, like." "Sounds fine to me, Julie. Barbara might be in a real 'no talking' mood. If she is, I'll catch up with you before you go in"  
"That's brilliant, Nikki." Julie Saunders told Nikki with enthusiasm. "Now why didn't we think of something like that." She added to Julie Johnson after Nikki had moved off in a purposeful manner.

"Mind if I come in, Barbara. " Nikki asked kindly as Barbara lay on her bunk bed, facing away from her to the wall. There was a long pause before Barbara replied.  
"So long as I'm not taking you away from your work, Nikki. I know how busy you are"  
The remark was kindly meant but it reminded Nikki that, while she was rushed off her feet, part of the daily reality for prisoners is, even with the education programmes she had started up, was terminal boredom and depression.  
"You are my work, Barbara. I'd like to think you're my friend as well. If you want to talk, Barbara, I'm here whenever you're ready"  
Barbara half turned to lie on her back and mulled matters over. As she stared at the light in the ceiling, something stirred the very distant memory of when Nikki was lying in her bunk after she had supposed that Helen had abandoned her while Barbara stuck up for her and urged her to be positive.  
"I suppose I'll have to talk to you sooner or later." Barbara said begrudgingly.  
"I'm only saying because it might help. There comes the time when everyone needs to talk even if they don't want to." Nikki's very soft voice reasoned very gently. There was another long pause until, eventually, Barbara's head turned in Nikki's direction. Her face was infinitely kind and patient as she had always been, as she had gently persuaded her that she had to take up arms against Shell Dockley. She lay there without saying anything and Nikki waited patiently without pressurizing her.  
"It's all because that damned barrister kept on at me about when Henry was dying it brought back far too many memories I have been trying to forget." Barbara suddenly replied, her emotions choking her up inside. "Even the good times as well, Barbara?" Nikki reasoned "Not exactly"  
The stillness of the cell gave the impression to Nikki not of peace and quiet but of detachment from life itself. She remembered that instinct just to bury yourself away from your problems. Harrassed and overworked though Nikki was at times, she was almost grateful to be kept busy. Right now, Nikki knew not to rush matters and was content to content to wait while Barbara was deep in her own thoughts. She sensed that it was so hard of Barbara to come out of herself as she was sunk so deep in the past. Something in her would not let go, to let go of Henry, or so it seemed.  
"You know, Barbara, what I remember clearly of that performance at your church hall was Henry's speech. He was gracious to us all and spoke kindly. It's a pity I never knew that he really wasn't well"  
"There's nothing you could have done about. There's nothing anyone could have done about it." Barbara said reassuringly though why on earth she chose to reassure anyone at that moment escaped her thoughts. She knew how wide spreading Nikki's range of sympathies were to anyone who needed her help. Moments passed "You saw how Sylvia made a total idiot of herself in court." Nikki said in deliberately understated fashion.  
"Does it make a difference"  
"It gave everyone a laugh." Nikki said in her inimitable fashion. "It won't bring Henry back but it will give you a chance of getting out of here"  
"I don't know what there is on the outside anymore and if it's really worth it all"  
Nikki let that remark hang on the air. Barbara was still not looking directly at her. The next words had to be said.  
"I did." Nikki said firmly." I was stuck in here for life, the wrong side of the wire. Sure I was lucky when Helen came into my life but she had to move mountains to get my case at the least up for appeal. I'd been on trial up against a hanging judge and only half the story was told and I got sent down for life. The trial is going well from all accounts and you've got George and Jo and a really decent man as a judge. Believe me, they don't make men better than him. I simply cannot allow you to give up like this"  
"Are you speaking as wing governor or as Nikki Wade?" Barbara retorted a little frostily.  
"Both. There's never been a difference, never will be. You've got to try, not for me but for you"  
Nikki's insistent tones finally got through to Barbara and she started to become aware of the trough of depression into which she had sunk. She coloured slightly at the was she had been so unresponsive but she was saved by the slight knock at the door after which, a fragment of Julie Saunders head peeped round the door.

"We was passing by and thought we ought to look in on you, Babs. Hey, fancy seeing you Nikki." She greeted them all, her surprise at Nikki's presence being somewhat overdone.  
"You feeling all right, Babs." Julie Johnson asked anxiously, stealing glances between her and Nikki.  
"Thanks to Nikki, I am. She talked some sense into me." Came the answer in much more of a positive tone than she had spoken for a long time, or it seemed that way.  
They lapsed into companionable silences as the afternoon wore on and spoke about nothing in particular. Time seemed to drift away. This was a novel experience for Nikki and the feeling seemed to draw Nikki back into the past for awhile until there came an official knock on the door. This was surely that of a screw come to interrupt proceedings.  
"Excuse me, Nikki," came Dominic's apologetic voice." The works department want you on the phone about the bad leak on the 3s. They wanted to say that the paperwork for the job hadn't been filled in right"  
"And this time of the year when it throws it down with rain." Muttered Nikki, angry. She had had several sparring matches with the petty jobsworth at the other end of the phone. It seemed to her that he saw his purpose, not to help her get to what was needed as soon as possible but in protecting his petty empire and asserting his feeble power." It's February, the worst time of the year. All right, Dominic, I'm coming." "We'll look after Babs till lockup time," Julie Johnson volunteered. She could see that Nikki was needed elsewhere. Nikki looked at the Julies gratefully and at Dominic who depended on her special brand of toughness in dealing with the situation. She was back in the present and, hopefully, the weekend would see Barbara regroup herself for the next stage of the battle. 


	89. Chapter 89

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Eighty-Nine

On the Friday evening, George knew that the time had come for her to talk to John about Connie. As she lay in the bath around seven, she tried to plan what she would say to him. She certainly wanted to know why he'd slept with Connie, above and beyond the obvious, and she definitely wanted to know how it had made him feel. George was all too aware that she hadn't slept with John very much lately, and she couldn't help but wonder if his sleeping with Connie was somehow her fault. If she had been able to keep her lack of enjoyment from John, she would probably have slept with him more often just to make sure that a fiasco like Connie didn't happen. But George also knew this to be a fruitless wish, because John always managed to see through her act if she attempted to fake it with him. 

When she went downstairs, Kay was sitting in the lounge reading the paper. "I'm going out," She said as she stood in the lounge doorway. "Anywhere nice?" Kay asked, looking up from The Guardian. "I'm going to see John, to try and sort some of this mess out. I might not be back until tomorrow morning. Can you entertain yourself for this evening?" "Of course," Kay replied with a smile. "Can I borrow your computer? I need to check up on a week's worth of e-mails." "Yes, help yourself," George told her. "I would say have a nice time," Kay said kindly. "But I think that good luck might be more appropriate." "As long as I can keep my temper in check, things should remain at least vaguely civil," George responded ruefully. "However, I do reserve the right to remain at least slightly angry." 

As she drove over to John's flat, George hoped that he would be in and that he did still want to see her. She couldn't blame him if he did everything possible to avoid another confrontation with her, because she herself probably would if she was in his position. But George wasn't looking for a confrontation, not tonight, because she simply didn't have the energy for it. She wanted explanations, and she wanted some answers, but as to what might happen afterwards, she didn't know. If she was honest with herself, she knew that what she really wanted was some comfort. Not necessarily sex, but a pair of strong, male arms, and the type of sheltering embrace that only John could give her. Being with Jo was somehow different, because George even now usually felt that she needed to be the one in control, if such a phrase was appropriate. She didn't know why she always felt like this with Jo, it was just something she had noticed over the last few months. 

John was surprised to see George at his door, especially after the argument they'd had on Tuesday. She looked tired, on edge, and in need of a strong, warm hug. "This is a surprise," John said guardedly as he opened his front door to her, noticeably not acknowledging whether it was nice or not. "I thought it was about time that we talked," George said, just as guardedly. "Don't you?" "That depends on whether or not you still want to shout at me," John replied half affectionately. "No, I don't," George told him, her voice slightly constricted with all the feelings she was vehemently trying to suppress. "Would you like a glass of wine?" John asked her, seeing the severe reining in of all her emotions, and wanting nothing more than to soothe all the pain away, pain that he had undoubtedly caused. Agreeing to this time buying prop, George sat down at one end of the sofa, and when Mimi jumped up beside her, George began running her fingers through the dog's silky black fur. When John returned and handed her the glass of red wine, he smiled down at Mimi, sprawled on her back with her legs in the air and her head against George's thigh. "She'll go to sleep like that if you keep on doing that to her." "I used to do this to whichever dog Daddy had when I was a child," George told him with a smile of remembrance. "I always found it very therapeutic." After taking a sip of her wine and putting the glass down on the coffee table, George approached the forbidden subject. "John, I need to know why you slept with Connie." John was sitting in an armchair off to the side, gazing up at the ceiling so that he didn't have to look directly into George's saddened eyes. "Would it help if I said that I'm not entirely sure why?" He asked, unable to immediately put everything into words. "No, it wouldn't," George told him firmly. "I need to make some sense of all this, so that I might just find a way of preventing it from happening again." "George, you don't seriously think this is your fault?" John asked in total amazement. "You can't blame me for wondering," George replied disgustedly. "And if it is, you'll appreciate that I'd like to know." "What makes you think this is your fault?" He asked her, immediately turning the conversation onto her rather than him, a situation he definitely preferred. "Well, it's not as though I've been very forthcoming in that respect recently, now is it." John stared at her, a maelstrom of feelings buzzing around his brain. He was angry, because never would he be critical of a woman who went off sex once in a while. He was saddened, to think that George could have blamed herself for something he'd done. He was also slightly insulted, that she thought he would be quite so crass and unkind. "Are you going to deny it?" She taunted him, perhaps trying to goad him into that fight she had been hell bent on avoiding. "Of course I deny it," He replied hotly. "Yes, I had noticed that making love didn't appear to be on your agenda at the moment, and I really couldn't say why. But that has absolutely nothing to do with why I slept with Connie Beauchamp." "Well, forgive me if I don't believe you," George said a little scathingly. "Tell me, if I had been giving you your usual quota, would you still have had sex with her?" "I don't know," He insisted vehemently, cursing the day she'd become any type of advocate. "Yes, I might have done." "But why?" She asked again. "Why, if you're still happy with me and Jo, would you jeopardise it so fecklessly?" "There was nothing feckless about it," He threw back at her, now almost content to give her the fight that part of her was looking for. "Well, that's a matter of opinion," She replied scornfully, trying to suppress the rising tide of tears that were threatening to drown her in their intensity. "Fine," John said as he got to his feet. "If you really want to know what went through my head, I'll tell you, but you won't like it." He began pacing from one end of the room to another, thoughtfully taking the occasional sip from his glass. George just sat and watched him, knowing that she was about to get far more than she'd bargained for. 

"All afternoon as I watched Connie on the stand, I wanted her. There was a power coming off her, something infinitely desirable that I wanted then and there. Every word she uttered made me want her all the more. Everything about that voice seemed perfect to me, that essence of culture combined with a purely erotic huskiness that one couldn't fail to be aroused by. You saw her, so you know just how enchanting she looked. You've got no idea just how much I wanted to tangle with that sharp, forceful, fiery personality. So, after court, I asked Coope to summon Connie to see me. Coope's not stupid, she knew that I was about to break every rule in the book, and she warned me off doing it." "I must remember to thank her the next time I see her," George put in dryly. "When Connie appeared, she looked a million dollars, even after an afternoon on the stand. She positively exuded sexual tension from every pore." John knew that he was being pretty brutal, but George had wanted to know, so he was telling her. "She knew why I had summoned her, and she certainly wasn't backward in coming forward. The way she said My Lord, it made me feel invincible, as though the entire world was mine to conquer. She challenged me, suggesting that I might not be up to meeting her very exacting standards, and you know what I'm like when someone gives me a challenge. When I kissed her, it was like putting a spark to petrol. She was as eager as I was for what came next, if not more so. Her skin was rich and warm, holding the sort of glow yours usually does when you're happy and healthy. I don't think I've ever slept with a woman quite so adept at getting what she wanted. Every movement had a purpose behind it, and every expression of pleasure was calculated to make me finally lose control. If I'm honest, I think that's why she agreed to it so easily, because the thought of having power over a high court judge was as potent as an aphrodisiac to her. For a random liaison after a long day in court, she was red hot, and writhed under me like a bucking bronco." "Stop it," George told him bitterly, his words slicing through her like so many well-trained knives. "What's the matter, George?" He taunted her cruelly. "I thought you wanted to know why I slept with her, or are the details just a little too enlightening for you." She had bitter tears running down her face by this time, and he knew that he'd definitely gone way too far. 

Sensing George's distress, Mimi stood up on the sofa, staring at John, and growling as he moved towards them. John stared at her, Mimi never having growled at him before, never having showed any sign of aggression since he'd had her. "Shh, sweetheart, it's all right," George said, scratching the dog's head and trying to calm her down. "Just tell me one thing," She said to John, still stroking Mimi's head. "Precisely why do you still love me? And don't tell me it's because of Charlie." 

Sitting down at the other end of the sofa, John ran his fingers through Mimi's fur, using the action to give him some much needed thinking time. He knew he loved George, but he didn't entirely know why, and he certainly couldn't explain it. "Is it really so difficult to put into words?" George asked, his inability to do so clearly hurting her. "George, I love you purely and simply because you're you. Isn't that enough?" John told her, suddenly sounding defeated. "No, it's not enough," George said, hating herself for crying because it revealed her vulnerability all too clearly for him. "John, I don't know what it is you want from me any more. I can't seem to keep you happy in bed any more, and no, that isn't your fault, it's mine." "Bed isn't just why I love you," John told her earnestly. "But it has got a great deal to do with why you love anyone. I'm sorry that I haven't been up to much lately, and I know that if I was better at faking it, it wouldn't need to be a problem." "George," John said vehemently, taking her hands in his. "I don't ever want you to do that again, not ever, because I really don't deserve it. If for some reason you don't enjoy what I might do for you, then I want to know about it, not be made to feel that it's still as good as it used to be. You are worth far more than that to me, George, far, far more." "How am I supposed to believe you, if you keep on sleeping with people like Connie?" "Do you know how I felt when you walked in on us?" He asked her, bypassing her original question because he didn't know how to answer it. "When I saw the look on your face, I wanted to cut out the last hour of my life, so that I could approach the thought of Connie with a different frame of mind altogether. I could see just how much I'd hurt you, and it's been haunting me ever since. All you could talk about was either my career or Jo, not once mentioning a word of how you felt about it. That's how I knew how much I'd hurt you, because you couldn't bring yourself to say it, for fear of losing the iron grip on your feelings that you think you have tonight. I'll tell you what makes me love you, the way you've looked after Jo this week, taking over her role whenever necessary, so that no undue attention is drawn to how difficult she has been finding everything. I love you because when you set your mind on winning a case, or an argument for that matter, you give it everything you've got, leaving absolutely nothing in reserve. You take the kind of risks in court that I often do, and you don't allow any opponent to pull you down. You make me incredibly proud of you virtually every time I see you in court. That doesn't mean that you don't regularly wind me up, because you know that you do, but in doing that, you're showing me just how much spirit is hiding away inside you, ready to come out and fight with me or anyone else to the death." George was incredibly confused. She was supposed to be angry with him, furious to the point of internal combustion, and yet she knew that he meant every single word he'd just said to her. Mimi chose this moment to wriggle out from between them, and stand whining by the front door. Seeing that George needed a little while to regroup, John got up and attached Mimi's lead to her collar. "I'll just take her out," He said to George, handing her the handkerchief from his trouser pocket. "Are you staying?" "Yes, if that's all right," George replied a little shakily. "I'd like you to stay," He assured her gently, briefly resting a hand on her bony shoulder, and thinking that he had a lifetime's worth of hurt to make up for when he returned. 

As George took a quick shower and cleaned her teeth, she wondered if she was doing the right thing in staying. After what John had said to her, George wasn't certain that she would be able to make love to him, if that was what he wanted. She didn't seem able to relax with him at the moment, and she knew this was because she was terrified of him coming across her lump, which would only lead to his demanding explanations that she wasn't yet equipped to provide. She felt exhausted as she finally slid under John's duvet, both physically and emotionally. Hardly surprising, she mused to herself, as she hadn't got around to eating any time today. Still, what was new?

As John walked around the block with Mimi, the street lamps making the frosted grass on the verges glisten in their shafts of light, he knew that he shouldn't have said half of what he had to George. He knew she'd wanted to know why he'd slept with Connie, but did he really have to give her chapter and verse on the subject? He also knew that most of George's disgust at what he said, would probably be turned inwards, to focus on herself for as she'd put it, "Not being especially forthcoming recently." John didn't know the reason behind George's lack of sexual interest, though he suspected that it might have something to do with whatever it was she wasn't telling him. He could usually read George like a book, and this time was no different. Something, of whose origin he couldn't begin to guess, was worrying her to the point of ensuring her a lack of sleep and a lack of interest in either sex or food. He wished she would talk to him, tell him about the inward terror that was haunting her every waking moment. But then what did he expect, if he kept on doing the kind of thing he'd done on Tuesday. Perhaps it was now up to him to put that wrong right, and to get back the George he knew and loved. 

George lay and listened as he returned to the flat, and as he moved about preparing for bed. She didn't want to lose all these familiar things, she realised, which made doing something about her lump all the more urgent. She lay and watched as Mimi padded softly to her basket under the window, and curled up contentedly in its depths. But when she felt John's weight on the other side of the bed, she still lay turned away from him. John cuddled himself up behind her, laying an arm over her waist, gently entangling his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry," He said, dropping a light kiss on her shoulder. "What for?" George asked him quietly, needing to hear the thoughts behind his apology. "For hurting you," He told her simply. "I shouldn't have slept with Connie, and I'm sorry that you saw us together." "Are you telling me what you actually feel," George asked him knowingly. "Or are you telling me what you think I want to hear?" "Every time I look at that sofa," John told her regretfully. "I feel..." He stopped, not entirely sure how to phrase his level of disgust. "...Cheap?" George supplied for him. "Yes, I suppose so," He agreed tentatively. "You remember that time we ended up screwing behind a hawthorn hedge, during a rehearsal for 'The Creation'?" "As if I'll ever forget it," John answered dryly. "Well, that's exactly how I felt after doing that. So, if you feel even slightly cheap about sleeping with Connie, it's been a very long time in coming." "George, I don't know how to put this right," John said sombrely. "And I'm not entirely sure that you can," George replied with just as much pain behind her tone. "If I hadn't seen you together but had still found out about it, I could be angry, hurt, and resigned as usual when you do this. But seeing you, lying there with her, you both looked incredible." These last few words were said with that rising tightness in the throat that always heralded tears. "Not even you and Jo have ever looked quite so beautiful," She went onto tell him. "And I was so envious of both of you. I used to look like that very occasionally, but not any more. Connie is ten years younger than me, and with more poise and self-assuredness than I am ever likely to have again." "George," He said in distress, hating it when she belittled what she must mean to him. "To me, you are as beautiful as on the day I met you. I intimately know every inch of your beautiful body, and I wouldn't ever want it any other way. George, you gave me the most precious thing in my life," He said, running his hand over the flat plains of her belly, where once Charlie had rested before she was born. "Something for which I can't ever love you enough. I wish with all my heart that I hadn't slept with Connie, because it appears to have hurt you immeasurably." This was too much for George, because she really couldn't maintain even this distance from him any longer. Turning over within his embrace, she clung to him, this rock of hers whom she knew she couldn't do without, entwining her legs with his and kissing him with all the fervour she could muster. 

He was momentarily surprised, because he certainly hadn't expected her to want this type of closeness from him. But he kissed her back, pouring into it all the love and apology that he felt. "I'm sorry," George said between kisses. "I'm sorry that I haven't been what you might call available in the last few weeks." "Shh," John told her gently. "That doesn't matter, really it doesn't. I'm just worried about you, that's all. I just wish you'd talk to me." "I can't," She said despairingly. "Not yet, anyway." "Are you pregnant?" He asked her, his hand trailing over her hip to lie once again on her lower abdomen. "No," She said, taking his hand in hers. "Would you tell me even if you were?" John couldn't help asking. "No, probably not," She was forced to admit. "But I'm not, I promise." In order to distract him from trying to guess any further about what she wasn't telling him, George led his hand familiarly to her right breast, encouraging him to fondle her as he had done so many times before. John capitulated to her undeniable request, because he wanted to love her, to take some of her hurt away, to try and rebuild what ought to be between them. "Are you sure this is what you want?" John asked her, taking her recent lack of interest into account. "I need it," She said almost desperately. "I need you." This was true, she realised, because with everything that may or may not happen once she brought the existence of her lump out into the open, this might well be the very last time she slept with John. As his hands moved over her body in that old, familiar pattern, she strove to make it as good for him as he was for her. But when he eventually began moving inside her, she clung to him, not ever wanting this to end. Why couldn't time be stopped, she thought fleetingly, so that she wouldn't ever have to detach herself from him, and leave his bed, as she knew she would have to tomorrow morning. 


	90. Chapter 90

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Ninety

When George awoke very early on the Saturday morning, she knew that sleep would now be very allusive for her. She had been haunted by broken dreams all night, and now that she was finally awake, rest would be a thing of the past. John was still sound asleep, taking comfort in the fact that she was supposedly sleeping beside him. George hated having to leave him, but she knew that it had to be done, and while he wasn't about to stop her. Slipping silently out of bed, she put on her clothes, and walked into the lounge to find something to write on. Seeing that his computer was resting in stand by, she moved over to it and clicked away the screen saver. 

"John," She wrote on the keyboard. "I needed last night more than you will ever know, both the hearing of your reasons for sleeping with Connie, as well as what came after. But now I need some time, time to sort myself out, and to deal with that thing I can't discuss with you, which I promise you isn't a pregnancy. I need you to allow me this time apart from you, because having your reaction to cope with as well as my own would be far too difficult. Jo will never find out from me about Connie, because that would only cause problems that neither of us need. I have always tried to forgive and forget your series of female transgressions, because I know that to beg you not to do something again, is the quickest way to persuade you to go against my wishes. But this time is different. I am finding it hard to forgive, and even harder to forget seeing you looking quite so good with Connie. You've got no idea just how beautiful the two of you were, and that reminded me with all the finesse of a punch to the jaw, that I am ten years older than her, and not nearly so attractive. 

I'm only going to ask one thing of you, something I expect you to fulfil. Please go and see Jo this evening, no matter what the rules of trial procedure may be. She is cracking at the seams at the moment, and a little support is the very least you owe her. 

I love you,

George." 

After saving it on the computer to make sure he didn't lose it accidentally, though still leaving it on the screen, George picked up her handbag, and after stroking a soundly sleeping Mimi, who had moved from her basket to a corner of the sofa, George let herself quietly out of the front door. The streets were icy as she drove carefully home, and the dark of the early morning almost seemed to be closing in on her. George was glad when she reached home, and let herself in quietly through the front door. The house was silent around her, but she could still feel Kay's presence, still be preternaturally aware of someone else in the space that was usually her own. Kay had put a guard around the dying fire when she'd gone to bed, and now George removed it, putting on another log to bring the still smouldering embers back to a warm, healthy blaze. She was quiet as she made herself some coffee, as it was only just after five-thirty, and she didn't want to waken Kay whose bedroom was directly above the kitchen. When she sat down on the sofa with her coffee, and the crackling logs bathing her in their warmth, the exhaustion of the day before swept over her. It felt so long since she'd had a proper night's sleep, the dormant hours haunted by the fear of what may eventually happen to her, coupled with John's and Jo's reactions to what she now realised was probably the inevitable. Putting the mug of steaming coffee down on the table in front of her, George leaned back into the corner of the sofa, just for a moment allowing her eyes to close. 

When Kay came downstairs at around eight o'clock for a cup of tea, she found George, still in the lounge, asleep at one end of the sofa. George was slightly shivering as the fire had died down in the last couple of hours. Lightly touching George's shoulder, Kay called her name, but George didn't stir. Calling her name slightly louder, Kay gently shook her. George's eyes opened, and she gazed blearily up at Kay, not immediately recognising her. "George, talk to me," Kay encouraged her, not liking the distinct lack of life in George's eyes, but she didn't respond. "George, you need to wake up," Kay told her firmly, but only getting a mumbled groan for a reply. Taking into account George's general thinness, together with the fact that she didn't know if George had eaten yesterday, Kay was forced to wonder if her blood sugar was low. Running quickly back upstairs, she retrieved a blood glucose testing kit from her medical bag, and grabbed a blanket from the warmth of the airing cupboard. George was still slumped in the corner of the sofa, and her eyes had drifted closed again. Wrapping the blanket snugly around her, Kay took one of her hands and pricked a finger, allowing the drop of blood to fall onto the paper strip that came with the kit. George's blood sugar level was 3.2, a little below the lower end of a recommended level of glucose. Well, now at least she knew what the problem was. Going into the kitchen, Kay searched for anything that was sweet and instantly available, but anything resembling either squash or lemonade was either diet, or with the added logo of 'No Added Sugar.' Mixing some honey in hot water, and then adding a little cold to make it drinkable, Kay returned to where George was still soundly sleeping. "George, I need you to wake up and drink this," Kay told her firmly. George slowly opened her eyes, and Kay held the mug to her lips. "George, drink it, damn you," Kay insisted, now more than a little worried about her. As George coughed on the liquid that was filling her mouth, Kay gently massaged her throat, ensuring that she would swallow it. The shock of being forced to drink something seemed to wake her up a little, making her vision begin to clear. After drinking all that was in the cup, George asked groggily, "What happened?" "Your blood sugar was quite low," Kay informed her. "Which meant that I couldn't wake you up." "Oh, god, I'm sorry," George replied, feeling an utter fool. "Did you eat at all yesterday?" Kay asked quietly, wondering just how big a can of worms she was opening by asking this. George looked at everything but Kay, the barely crackling fire, the piano, and eventually back to Kay. "I'll take that as a no," Kay said philosophically. "Smoking isn't my only addictive vice," George said quietly. "You suffer from anorexia," Kay replied, putting George's euphemism into its all too clinical form. George winced. "I positively loathe that word," She said vehemently. "But I don't understand. I've stopped eating for far longer than this before, and become far thinner than I am now, and yet I've never felt quite like that before. I fainted in court once, but that was nothing like this." "When was the last time you ate?" Kay asked her, trying to work out this little quandary. "Thursday evening, Jo was here, you ate with us." "Do you have any underlying health problems that might affect your blood glucose and haemoglobin levels?" What little colour George's face had, immediately drained away. So, that little bundle of cells was affecting other things now, was it? "Tell me," Kay encouraged, wanting to help her as much as she possibly could. "I, erm, I have a lump in my breast." George brought the words out with such difficulty that Kay could tell this was the first time she had actually uttered them. "How long have you had it?" Kay asked gently, her original vocation slipping back into place like a hand to a glove. "I found it at Christmas," George told her, wondering a little ironically if John was about to sleep with this confidante as well. "And has it grown?" "Yes," George replied, turning her face away from Kay because she knew what question was about to come. "Have you done anything about it?" "No, not yet. There simply hasn't been time," George insisted quickly before Kay could remonstrate with her. "I've had Barbara's trial to prepare for, plus god knows how many other cases to keep me quiet. Jo isn't coping especially well with this case because it reminds her of when her husband was terminally ill, and I know that she's started drinking too much because of that, and I'm so scared of either of them finding it that I'm finding it virtually impossible to sleep with either of them, because I couldn't handle either of them demanding explanations that I don't know how to give." All these words had come out in a rush, the last couple of statements bringing exhausted tears with them. Kay put her arms round George, not a gesture she usually bestowed on anyone, but there was so much pain and confusion in George's tone that she found it was purely instinctive to try and comfort her. "I think you're exhausted," She said when George began to calm down, realising that only the immediate problems could be addressed at this point. "What time did you get in? I didn't hear you." "About five-thirty," George replied, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. "John was still asleep when I left him." "How did it go?" Kay asked, trying to rub some warmth into George's shoulders. "Trust me, if you ever catch a lover just after they've had someone else, don't ever ask them why they did it, because you'll get far more than you ever bargained for. Well, if they're anything like John you will anyway. God, if I think I don't look up to much now, that's nothing to how I'll look if they have to take my breast away." "It's far too early to be talking about things like that," Kay told her gently, realising that this was what was at the heart of George's delay in seeking treatment. "For now, I think you should have something to eat, and then go to sleep for a few hours, and we'll talk about everything else later." "I'm sorry," George said as she dragged herself up from the sofa. "You didn't come over here to deal with all my problems as well as Barbara's." "George, I'm a doctor, and I want to help you in any way I can." 

No matter what she did that day, Kay's thoughts kept returning to George's problem. Why had she delayed so long in seeking treatment for it? And why hadn't she even told anyone of its existence? Of course, she thought disgustedly to herself, the answer to all this was plain and simple fear, fear of the strongest kind, fear that could make the most sensible people do the stupidest things. After sleeping for about three hours, George had closeted herself in her home office, saying that she had a week's worth of work to catch up on, but Kay privately thought that she was hiding from her admission of that morning. Kay was contented to sit in front of the open log fire, compiling notes for a couple of lectures she was due to give in the coming week. The weather was terrible outside, with the wind and rain pounding against the windows, making any thought of venturing out there completely redundant. In the middle of the afternoon, George popped her head out to inform Kay that a load of body diagrams had just arrived on her fax machine. "Oh, good," Kay said, getting up and going towards the office. "I asked Marino to fax me a copy of the file for the case we're working on back home. I thought I might usefully take some time to go over it. You never know when inspiration might strike." Collecting the thick wad of paper together, Kay went back into the lounge and began spreading it out on the coffee table in order of victim. There were copies of photographs, autopsy reports, tentative psychological profiles, and death certificates, far too much of it in her own handwriting. 

When she had been working on this for about an hour, trying to piece together the far too frightening jigsaw, the phone rang. Seeing the cordless lying on the sofa, Kay reached over and picked it up. George had heard it ring through the open door of her office, and was greatly relieved that it wasn't anyone for her. She didn't especially feel in the mood for communicating with anyone today. Kay's presence might once have irritated her whilst she was in such a frame of mind, but now she simply found her company restful, unintrusive, and in a way slightly comforting. The caller was Lucy, and George did her best to ignore Kay's side of the conversation, not wanting to intrude. But when she heard Kay's exclamation of half anger, half horror, her eyes widened in surprise. "Lucy Farinelli, don't you dare think of doing something quite so stupid!" George couldn't help it, she was now incredibly curious. "I mean it, Lucy," Kay continued. "I more than anybody want to catch this maniac, but I do not want you setting yourself up to look like me, in order to try and catch him in the act. I might want this killer under lock and key, but I don't want you dead to achieve that!" Now George was really intrigued, though from what Kay had said, it was perfectly obvious what she was objecting to. 

After Kay had put the phone down, managing to calm down and finally have a civil conversation with her niece, George left her work for a while and went to make some coffee. Automatically making Kay a cup as well, she took them both into the lounge. Trying to clear a little room on the coffee table for the mugs, George picked up a rather gruesome-looking photograph. "What on earth is that?" She asked, holding it up for Kay to see. Momentarily glancing at it, Kay replied, "It's a somewhat magnified map of the severed veins and arteries inside the neck of a woman whose throat was cut." Screwing up her face in disgust, George put the photograph back on the table. "Rather you than me," She said, averting her eyes from the rest of the horrors laid out before her. "It might be next time," Kay said a little thoughtfully. "Oh, god, Kay, I didn't mean..." George said, sounding utterly horrified. "I know you didn't," Kay said with a reassuring smile. Then, turning serious again, she added, "Lucy wants to make herself look like me, and let it be known that I'm back in the country, in order to set a trap for the killer. I'm the one he's really after, and he can't keep finding women who just happen to bear a significant resemblance to me. It terrifies me when she comes up with highly dangerous schemes like this, but I've hopefully managed to talk her out of that one. If any traps are going to be set for this evil little bastard, I'd far rather be the bait myself." "I don't think I could ever do anything like that," George said slightly in awe. "I didn't think I could at one time, when I was going through med school in Baltimore. I knew that I wanted to go into forensic pathology, but I never suspected that I might one day be putting myself in the type of danger that I sometimes do. I've lost count of the times that Marino has slept on my couch, in an attempt to act as my bodyguard. When I first arrived in Richmond, he did everything to wind me up, because he wasn't used to a woman having jurisdiction over parts of his cases. He used to routinely borrow evidence, and forget to send me reports and photographs just to annoy me. But his having to shoot a serial strangler in my bedroom one night, seemed to change his mind about me." 

Lighting herself a cigarette, George thoughtfully looked at Kay and her work. This woman was used to putting herself in harm's way purely to acquire answers and to achieve justice, something she knew that John would be infinitely impressed by. "George," Kay said carefully, beginning to gather her papers together. "About what you told me this morning. Why haven't you seen anyone about it?" Kay felt that this was a somewhat clumsy way to ask, but she was trying to tread very carefully around George's highly-strung state of fear. George watched her guardedly. "Part of me wishes I hadn't told you," She couldn't help admitting. "Because in actually voicing it, putting it into words, has made it all the more real." "You can't hide from it forever," Kay told her gently. "And that's what you've been doing by working so hard, isn't it." "Probably," George replied a little shame facedly. "But it's sometimes ridiculously easy to put off the inevitable." "You're doing exactly what I did after Benton died, well, after I thought he'd died," Kay told her, lighting a cigarette of her own. "For about eighteen months, until Diane Bray began to make her presence felt, I did nothing but work. I went to crime scene after crime scene, because dealing with other people's grief was far easier than dealing with my own. Not even Marino could get anywhere near me, and Lucy didn't even try. You se, both she and Marino knew that Benton was still alive." "Oh my god," George said in astonishment, taking a sip of her coffee. "And yet they kept it from you?" "They had to," Kay said succinctly. "To keep Benton safe, and so that the Chandonne cartel would come out into the open, thinking they were safe from his ever catching up with them. I was so angry with Benton when I found out that he was still alive, I don't think I've ever been angrier. I remember standing half way up the stairs in the Chandonne house in Baton Rouge, and seeing Benton standing below me in the middle of the cavernous hall. I couldn't believe what I was seeing at first, and I remember sitting down at the bottom of the stairs because I thought I might faint." "I'm not surprised," George said ruefully. "My first rational thought was that Benton was somehow on their side, which utterly terrified me. But when he began to explain, so many things began to make sense, Lucy's throwing herself into work just as I had done, and Marino getting drunk on Christmas Day because he'd discovered a file Benton had kept full of important documents before his death. Lucy, Marino and I were all about as dysfunctional as each other during that time. I was because I didn't know how to grieve, and Lucy and Marino because they knew I was still bitterly hurting for a man who was still living." "Karen did that after her son died," George said quietly, thinking that this must be the chosen path for all seriously professional women, herself and Jo included. "Karen as in Larkhall's Governor?" Kay asked, having met so many knew people in the last week or so. "Yes. Her twenty-two-year-old son died last July. He'd been in drugs rehab but Karen didn't know. She only found out after he'd killed himself. She went back to work only a week after he'd died." "Just like I did after Benton's death." "She did nothing but work, staying there till god knows what time in the evening, and covering any shifts if they were short staffed. Anyway, it all came to a head a few weeks later, when one of her favourite inmates was found on the hospital wing roof with a razor blade. So, Karen being the stupidly brave angel that she is, went up on the roof to talk Denny down. John was there and he saw every minute of it. He told me afterwards that she went up there with as little thought for her safety as she might if it had been two feet from the ground instead of fifty. You're very much like her in a way, both putting your work before everything else, even when it means putting yourselves at severe risk." "But isn't that what you're doing?" Kay asked, her talking about Benton having clearly been used to lull George into a false sense of security. When George didn't answer, Kay continued. "You've thrown yourself into this trial, and god knows how many others, to give yourself as little thinking time as possible. Only it hasn't really worked, has it." "No," George said quietly. "What is it that you're so afraid of?" Kay asked, though she thought she could hazard a guess. Seeming to think about how to word this for a moment or two, George attempted a reply. "I'm terrified of how much they might have to take away, and of how that will make me look afterwards. Connie Beauchamp looked so flawless, so absolutely perfect, and I can't help thinking that if the worst happens and I do lose a breast, that John won't even be able to look at me, never mind want to make love to me. I know it sounds terribly stupid, but I know just how much female beauty has always meant to him." 


	91. Chapter 91

Part Ninety-One 

"Coming round tonight?" George asked Jo on the phone with that audible smile in her voice." We've worked frightfully hard all week and on a Saturday night, this means that we absolutely must relax and take it easy"  
To George's surprise, Jo failed to respond. She could tell it in her voice, which remained totally serious.  
"Not for me, George. We've got a long way to go and I need to catch up after my little lapse on Monday night"  
Jo's words rang instant alarm bells in George's mind. The carefully turned phrase was a dangerous euphemism, a more realistic description of events being that that Jo had been on an alcoholic bender. The words rang false and all the time she'd known Jo, she had been truthful even to the point of what George once conceived as insufferable priggishness. This time she was lying, to herself as to George.  
"You can hardly say that Kay and I will be exactly hard work, especially when you know that you can sit back and let me do the cooking"  
'It's very nice of you but I really feel as if I need space to myself. It's nothing personal"  
Jo stumbled in reply as words failed to come easily. She was audibly blushing.  
"Just as you will. If you want to change your mind, feel free to come round." George urged her in her most reassuring tones and her voice drifted away into the distance. When it was just that split second too late, Jo regretted her words but she felt she was too late to do anything about it as she had irrevocably committed herself .The other side of her was glad to be in the safety and security of her own home.

In turn, George drummed her fingers on the phone table as her mind was racing. She was sure that Jo wouldn't change her mind, not in the frame of mind she was in. The answer popped into her mind. She would have to speak to John, instead and she grabbed for the phone.

"John darling, I wanted to talk to you." For some inexplicable reason, John mistook George's eagerness to talk as her being peremptory and sparked off a perverse and mulish desire to resist what she might have to say to him.  
"I thought you wanted some time apart from me. You told me as such and a lot more on my computer." "Will you listen, John?" George said in impatient tones. The man was being infuriatingly obtuse and awkward and she was compelled to add extra emphasis by adopting her 'one syllable' style. "I don't want to talk about you sleeping with Connie as I have said my piece on that subject. I wanted to phone you to check up that you will go round and see Jo exactly as I told you to"  
"In the middle of a trial when she is appearing before me? That sounds very reckless"  
"John, I don't care if I am sounding contradictory. You should know by now that I am accustomed to having my cake and eating it whenever I feel like it"  
"Don't I just know it"  
"Just go round and see Jo and hang the consequences of being caught, because you owe it to her. She has told me that she 'wants space for herself.' This, at a time when she is right in the middle of a trial when she has far too much time to brood"  
"Have I the right to stand in the way of Jo's wishes?" John queried, doubtfully.  
"John, just forget your lily livered, oh so trendy liberal politics for just one moment. She may want time on her own, she may want to drink far too much than is good for her but what she needs is you right now. She may very easily end up drinking her way through the entire weekend and end up in a frightful mess and it could be worse than that. In case you had overlooked the matter, there's a trial at stake and, dare I say it, Barbara's freedom. Of course I am telling you to stick your oar in. After all, it's what you're best at." The force of George's scorn and exasperation burnt its way down the telephone wires and into John's ear. She was right, of course.  
"All right, George, I'll go right over and I'll do my best." "Phone me before Monday and let me know how you've gone on." George concluded, put the phone down and sighed in total relief and sank back into her armchair.

As John knotted his tie and stared in the mirror, he was perplexed at what or who he should be. He really wasn't sure if he was supposed to be the lover, friend or nursemaid or all three rolled into one. It wasn't until he went to step out of his front door when he realized that he should react according to what state of mind he found Jo in when he got there. A rush of memories were relentlessly threaded together as he realized the profundity of the hard truths that George had given him, a kind of tough love. While there was an element of risk to this undertaking, to not act with courage would put Jo in far more perilous danger. As he looped his conclusions together, his internal anxiety had given way to a state of heightened awareness and a purposeful readiness to face any possibility by the time he knocked at Jo's front door.

"Well, this is a surprise, John. I would have thought you would have immersed yourself in the trial papers as is your habit"  
"Hang the papers, Jo"  
"Isn't this a little dangerous, John. Right in the middle of the trial"  
"If you remember, I lived in the digs at the time. That officious busybody must have been brainwashed by reading far too many cheap expose magazines when she took pictures for the LCD to get their grubby hands on. This flat is far more discreet and well off the beaten track. Besides, I have thoroughly immersed myself in the trial and am completely prepared. Therefore my attitude is 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof"  
"Meaning?" Jo interjected, a suspicion of a smile playing on her lips.  
"That it's all there in my head and I don't need to do anymore. I came round to see you instead. I wanted to say that I've realized that I'm taking for granted what's right under my very nose and that is both you and George"  
Jo caught John's glance tray from her face and flit round to her sideboard. A half full whisky bottle was left out on the side. John asked himself anxiously if it was because it happened to not have been put away or whether it was left out for Jo to carry on her reckless path of life to drink herself to death. As for John, he classed himself as a moderate drinker, confined to pleasant evening company, social events and weekends but only if he felt like it. He was now only too aware that Jo was different. As he stared, his words had dragged up from the depths of his memory, the enormous glass of whisky, which Jo had downed in one gulp when she came round to his digs to berate him over his conduct of the Jason Powell trial. At the time, John put down her reaction to the very emotional way she had reacted to the death of the young man, all the more so as he had felt pretty emotional himself.  
"Do you want a drink, John?" Jo asked. Her self-defensiveness could feel a faint feeling of disapproval emanating from John while she was touched by the uncharacteristic way that John wore his heart on his sleeve. The cross cutting emotions made her feel edgy. "Not for me, Jo" "For someone who has been a total reprobate when it comes to women," Jo pronounced, her arms crossed across her chest, "You can be remarkably puritanical about smoking, alcohol and keeping fit"  
"No, no, it's just that smoking and drinking have never greatly appealed to me. I cannot claim any special virtue for that. I like fencing because it appeals to the competitive spirit in me. I tend to do only what I feel like." John replied in the most detached, self-deprecating fashion possible.  
"So when it comes to sex and drugs and rock and roll, only sex appeals to you." Jo threw back at him in a bantering tone of voice. "I confess that I listen to Black Sabbath with Charlie and, as for the other, well, you know me by now. Right now, there's something that's more important than my personal failings." John evaded in a distracted fashion, trying not to listen too closely to Jo's description of himself, which had unpleasant resonances of his past foolishness with Connie Beauchamp.  
"And what might that be, John?" "A special evening in with you." John's low melodious voice answered. He played his pause to perfection and finally took Jo in his arms, drew her to him and kissed her. Jo luxuriated in the feel of being held by John and momentarily feeling that little bit better about herself before both good fortune and John had just knocked at her front door. "Mmm, this feels like many years ago when we first started going out together." Jo said in a self-satisfied way as her arms reached round John while John clasped her in his arms. "Not so long ago." John murmured. "We are as young as we feel"  
Jo gave up asking questions of herself, her own far too easy identification with Barbara and the growing intensity of the roller coaster that this trial had created. She was about to surrender to feelings of sensuous pleasure, the parameters of which had been widened more than she had ever known even existed at one point.  
Their path to Jo's bed was an erratic trail of scattered blouse, discarded white shirt, decorative bra cast aside until the two of them were naked and along in Jo's bed. How slender and shapely was Jo's body that he caressed and their mouths made contact with more fervency than Jo was used to. Their tongues became intertwined .She ran her fingers throughout his thick graying hair and her eyes took in those familiar chiseled features up above her, highlighted against the gloom by the moonlight shining through her bedroom window. She was lucky, she thought, that he was looking only more distinguished and attractive with age. Nothing was more certain that he was perfectly aware of this infuriating fact but on this night, John felt particularly sensitive and tender in his lovemaking. She could feel his lips move delicately across her skin with all the loving devotion of an artist at work. As such, he had always been comfortable with his facility in that direction but, this time, his feelings were suffused with tenderness for Jo as his tongue flicked over Jo's right nipple. The touch of his lips delicately caressed Jo's hardening nipples, one after the other and he was gratified to feel her body start to move. At least, while she was moaning with pleasure, he knew that she was safe. .  
Time took its hands off the bedside clock and slowed down so that there was all the time in the world as John moved down Jo's slender torso, veered off to her hip and entered Jo's moistness with her eager collaboration. With practiced ease, his tongue teased at her clitoris and coaxed her to that state of glorious arousal.  
As they lay on that effortless magic carpet of space and time, they moved next to each other and started caressing each other. John was touched to see that smile of satisfaction on Jo's face rather than that worrying expression of despair in her eyes that troubled her so much. He knew every inch of her body as much as her mind and he felt as if he was coming home to himself while he lay with her. Her legs parted eagerly as John's assured and patient hardness entered smoothly into Jo. While it gratified him to feel Jo's body up against hers as their body rhythms meshed together, now as much as any time in their lives. John could feel the lightness and delicacy of Jo's fingertips as they traced a pattern on his back. He knew beyond any reasonable doubt that she expressed her contrary desire for the man who had burst into her world at just the right time when her space needed so desperately to be invaded. It wasn't just his skill in giving exquisite sexual pleasure. He knew that he was expressing his desire to make amends in his life in the way that he was most confident in expressing in deeds rather than words. Taking all the time in the world, he gradually took them both all the way upward and over the top to an explosive orgasm that left them spent and gasping for breath. 

"I've realized that I've so much to lose." John said at last while Jo's arms cradled him in their afterglow of sexual passion. "How do you mean, John"  
"From what happened to Barbara," John replied shortly, as if to chop off the train of thought. Jo was silent for a while. The trial was only half way through. Now was not the time for introspection when they had to be strong and George also. Besides, John was in danger of letting his mind race too quickly, to will away the weekend. This was the wrong time to say it but it felt good to Jo that John had felt something of the same emotions that had scarred her. They were in the same emotional room together. "You don't usually talk when you make love." Jo said softly, adroitly changing the conversation.  
"Does it matter?" "Nothing matters right now except that you're here."Jo answered with feeling and with a sensation of peace and calm. True, it might not last, she admitted to herself but tomorrow was another day. John lay his cheek next to her neck and immersed himself in those sensations of comfort which, he had to admit to himself, he might need as much as anyone. Such confessions to himself were easiest at moments like this. He was at peace with himself in the knowledge that he had kept his faith with a distant George that was somewhere out there but whom he visualized as smiling kindly down on both of them. 


	92. Chapter 92

Part Ninety-Two

"What do you do in this country when it's Sunday, George." Kay asked after a soothing morning cup of coffee, which felt all the better as a biting winter wing whipped round the house outside. "You're worse than I am, Kay, unable to wind down when you've got the chance to." Came the quizzicst won't let me be till I'm done"  
"Well, I have the answer to what to do today. Do you want to come with me to Daddy's"  
Kay pricked up her ears. On one word, this very sophisticated English woman betrayed a total unselfconsciousness and affection for her father. She was lucky, she ruefully reflected as her own father had died when she was twelve and her feelings for her own mother weren't exactly in the same league to say the least. "Are you sure he won't mind some perfect stranger landing on his doorstep?" Kay queried. "No Daddy's"  
Kay pricked up her ears. On one word, this very sophisticated English woman betrayed a total unselfconsciousness and affection for her father. She was lucky, she ruefully reflected as her own father had died when she was twelve and her feelings for her own mother weren't exactly in the same league to say the least. "Are you sure he won't mind some perfect stranger landing on his doorstep?" Kay queried. "Not at all. He'll love it. It gives him a chance to bask in female company." "So tell me more about him." "He's an Appeal Court judge, a totally old fashioned man with strong opinions but curiously enough has always been fond of John even if he's seen him as a dangerous Bolshevik in judge's robes"  
"I'll come with you, George. He sounds kind of interesting"  
"One thing about Daddy is that he's never boring." George laughed, showing her shining white teeth and her eyes alight. It struck Kay that George had come alive when she talked and thought of him. She was brighter in her spirits than she had seen George and she realized that this visit would do George good at the very least.

Kay opened her eyes wide when her car crunched its way at the end of the broad gravel drive as it curved its way to the end. A huge building spread its way either side of her, a supreme indulgence in gothic architecture in the buttresses of ancient stone, which thrust its roots deep into the soil. To complete the picture, an elderly square sided Rolls Royce occupied its rightful place. It made no concession to modernity and was spotless and gleaming. Many years ago, she had watched old black and white English films and the view in front of her was that movie comes to life in full colour.  
"Hey," She exclaimed. "This is some home"  
"I'll lead the way. I grew up here"  
They found themselves by stages and through various rooms in the sitting room, a large, high ceilinged room with a large, well padded three piece suite and lesser satellite armchairs and, to one side a wall to ceiling bookcase stuffed with well worn hardback books from down the ages. The whole room had that comfortable, lived in feeling. Fittingly, a large lurcher dog sprawled himself by the fireplace like a contented old man, happy to take life easy. While Kay stood there, taking in the whole ambience, Joe came bustling over.

"George. I'm delighted to see you as always. But perhaps you could introduce me to your friend." Joe beamed, greeting Kay as equally as his daughter. He liked the look of this elegant woman with very styled ash blond hair. "Let me introduce you to Dr. Kay Scarpetta. She's over here from America as she's helping me out as a trial witness and doing some teaching while she's here. She's been staying at my house"  
"A doctor eh?" Joe asked "Not quite the regular doctor, I'm afraid." Kay clarified. "I'm the Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia in the field of pathology. My business is more with the dead than the living and in trying to get them justice"  
Joe was charmed by Kay's cultured American accent, which nevertheless had that element of the exotic. The last word intrigued him as it had strong resonances of John but then again, in some perverse fashion in such a conformist age, his ideas was becoming subtly contagious. Nevertheless, a mischievous instinct in him resolved to test her out, to see what made her tick. "It's not the same as in my day. It used to be a man's job, being a top surgeon"  
"And it still is, Joe. It just so happens that the field is open for woman if they've got the drive and determination. What could be fairer than that?" "Oh and who encouraged me to become a barrister, Daddy?" George chimed in. Her darling daddy was a right one to sound off with Victorian notions of women being in their rightful place. He had positively encouraged her to seek out her own career with no thought of her possibly compromising her femininity.  
"You're different, George." He rumbled. "You're my daughter. You have always had a talent in that direction and I was only doing my duty in doing my best for you"  
"Meaning that I've always been argumentative, daddy, so I might as well be encouraged to make a respectable living out of it"  
"Something like it"  
It was obvious to Kay that the verbal sparring between father and daughter was a fixed feature of their relationship and that there was a real affection between them. "But I have been forgetting my guest. Kay, do you want a cup of coffee or is it too early for something more warming than that"  
"A cup of coffee would be fine"  
"Then in that case, I'll have a glass of port." Joe said with complete aplomb as if daring George to disapprove of him. Kay saw with a little amusement his slight disappointment that, for once, she declined to rise to the bait. As they sipped their drinks, Joe took out a silver cigarette case and offered it to Kay.  
"By the way, do you mind if we smoke or are you a smoker yourself"  
"I have spent the last twenty years intermittently giving up smoking"  
"…….and failing, I'll bet. One more time won't hurt." Joe added with a conspiratorial smile. He accepted one of his own and, as he gently puffed at his cigarette, rashly ventured into the most forbidden topic of conversation in George's book.  
"Talking about accomplishments, I simply must play you a CD recording of a recording that all of us in the judiciary and friends outside of an amateur orchestral performance of Haydn's "Creation." My daughter George took the part of 'Eve' and she turned in a magnificent performance. You must listen to it"  
"Oh, Daddy, not now. Must you embarrass me?" Blurted a hugely embarrassed and blushing George.  
"I cannot see why. The performance of all of us, even that wretched weasel, Sir Ian, was superb even though I say it myself." Boomed Joe heartily and proudly. Kay noticed a ring of pride in all of them and noted that, in Joe's world, the word 'amateur' was shorn of modern associations of relative incompetence. It simply meant that professionals in one calling performed in another area for the sheer love of it and not to make money out of it. It didn't devalue that activity as far too many of her fellow countrymen were apt to think.  
'I don't see why not? The whole performance was superlative even if I say it myself"  
"But now is not the time or place. If we listen to the CD, it would mean that we would have to be silent to listen to it properly .We came here to talk to you, not to sit like Trappist Monks." George reasoned with more fluency and assurance now that she had got into her stride.  
Joe thought carefully for a moment before he delivered judgment. There was something in what George was saying but he was determined to secure something of his wishes. He knew full well that there was more than one way of killing a cat and inspiration came to his rescue.  
"I'll agree to it on conditions. One is that Kay simply must hear the CD with you when you get home. Is that an agreement?" Joe finished on a determined note.  
"All right, Daddy, just as you say," Came George's slightly brusque reply, as she knew only too well how firm her father was in sticking to agreements. It was one thing to cut a deal, it was quite another to be on the receiving end of it.

As Joe's housekeeper served an excellent roast beef dinner, conversation tailed off while they ate heartily and it was only over the cheese and biscuits that Joe's active mind questioned Kay of matters American as it was very rare for Joe to come across anyone of that nationality and it gave an excellent opportunity for that verbally combative side of him to be given full rein. She surely couldn't lock horns with him as tenaciously as John, that bastion of willful obstinacy, couldn't she?  
"Does your state have capital punishment, Kay"  
"We do, indeed"  
"I am happy to say that that was done away with, many decades ago though there are still some of us who have experience of that era"  
"I'm surprised that someone so obviously conservative is such a liberal in that one particular area," Kay questioned. "Liberalism be damned." Came Joe's perverse reply. "The abolition of capital punishment gives something for the Court of Appeal to get its teeth into. It's no good telling an innocent man who is six feet under that we're sorry, we got it wrong and wish to say we're sorry. Even Enoch Powell, as true blue a politician as you could get, was against capital punishment as he knew full well that there but for the grace of god, he might sign somebody's death warrant"  
"I'm against capital punishment myself but I have to work within the system as best as I can. I have to autopsy every person who comes from the electric chair within the state of Virginia so I come up against it, personally." "Of course, if capital punishment still existed we wouldn't have had an enlightening new face on the staff of Larkhall prison." Ventured Joe in a more apparently conciliatory tone of voice.  
"How do you mean"  
"Nikki Wade a wing governor who works for Karen. I met her once at the party after the performance of the creation and had a very enlightening discussion as to the merits of custodial sentence. Some years ago, she received a life sentence for taking the life of that vile policeman who was on the point of seriously molesting her partner before she intervened. Between you and me, that judge who first tried the case was toadying to the Home Office in a most shameless fashion. His judgments were as sound as a typical slipshod second hand car salesman. Whenever a case came up for appeal with his name on it, I always had that sinking feeling inside of me of a screw loose somewhere. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the case was taken to the Court of Appeal where her sentence was knocked down to three years for manslaughter. She appealed against that judgment as it left a mark on her name. The appeal was successful and wiped her record clean. The basic case was that that animal was deliberately provoking her. Her barrister very cleverly added on top a plea of defending another human being against attempted criminal assault as analogous to self defence. In making great play on the fact that the dead man was a policeman, the very person employed to stop crime, not commit it, the cumulative weight persuaded the establishment to cut their losses. It was a landmark case and much talked about by the brethren.' I know that John had strong feelings of sympathy with Nikki but even if he had been a high court judge at the time, I'm sure that her case would have been kept out of his hands for obvious reasons"  
"So how and why did she choose to work in the prison service? That sounds very unusual"  
"From what I understand, I think she wants to give back some of the good fortune to others that she received. She's an incorrigible left winger like John but I must say that she has real spirit. I met her partner, Helen at the same time and they are definitely well suited and well settled." replied Joe.  
He had directed a meaning glance at George and there was a very mischievous twinkle in his eye .Kay was surprised by the matter of fact attitude of this very archetypal elderly upper class very English gentleman. Outward appearances could certainly deceive and she couldn't help but make comparisons with her sister, that selfish unmotherly monument of platitudes. Not only did she actively dislike her personally but also she had no respect for her neglectful attitude to her niece Lucy, that erratic genius whose vulnerabilities she knew far better than her sister did. But then again, she ought to remember what a perceptive investigative mind made Marino a very fine policeman despite his outrageously redneck exterior. Her eyes stared into the distance in contemplation.  
When Kay had slipped off to the toilet up the north face of the Eiger that was the main staircase, Joe seized the chance to collar George about a matter that had come to his attention by the ever reliable jungle telegraph.  
"I've had word that you've not only been skating on thin ice during the trial you're handling with Jo but daring the ice to crack"  
"What do you mean, daddy?" she asked unnecessarily as she put two and two together straightaway.  
"Your hounding of the witness for the prosecution, that very attractive female surgeon, or so I hear. You've got away with it before but you must not push your luck. The presence of Monty on the bench makes it doubly difficult if you fall off that high wire. It's a long way down. You must act with more restraint in future"  
That worried expression on her father's face and the knowledge that he was right made George own up.  
"All right, I admit that I did push her further than I should have done but I won't do it again. I'll be more careful….look here, is this in any way official?" George continued with a questioning look on her face.  
"The matter is entirely unofficial and private so far but only you have the power to keep it that way, George"  
"I promise not to be rash or foolhardy and I'll behave myself in future. I've visited Larkhall prison and I have absolutely no intention of ending up as an inmate." George reasoned with more forceful conviction than before. Her father took one look at her and believed her.

The day resumed its relaxed course and finally George and Kay made their departure. "Of course, I won't hold you to the agreement but I would like to hear it." Kay offered in a conciliatory fashion.  
"If you listen to it on her own, that's fine by me"  
George had other worries on her mind and the matter of potential public embarrassment wasn't such a monumental event after all. 


	93. Chapter 93

A/N: I have borrowed a quote from both of the following books: The Body Farm, by Patricia Cornwell, and The Last Precinct, by Patricia Cornwell. I have also had assistance from the American Journal of Pharmacology. Betaed by Jen. 

Part Ninety-Three

On the Monday morning, George and Kay drove to court, both of them knowing that today was going to be a very long day. George was continuously running over the questions she would ask, combined with trying to work out what line Brian would take for the prosecution. She wasn't stupid, and was well aware that at least some of Kay's bad publicity was going to be used. Brian might have made a very bad decision with regards to Sylvia Hollamby, but he certainly wouldn't be making any mistakes with a witness like Kay, whose very suspect press would be his only ally. "I suspect that the prosecution is going to give you a pretty bad ride," George said as they turned into the car park at the Old Bailey. "And I'll try to object to as much of it as possible, but I can't make any promises." "Oh, don't worry," Kay told her dismissively. "It won't be the first time I've been hauled over the coals so to speak. I should imagine I can give your prosecuting counsel as rough a ride as he's going to give me." Jo was already there waiting for them, as were Karen and Yvonne. "I didn't want to miss the performance of your star witness," Karen told George as they approached. "I'll do my best," Kay said with a smile. 

When court reconvened at ten o'clock, Kay took the bible in her right hand and read the oath. As George rose to her feet, Kay's eyes made a sweep of the court, taking in the prosecuting counsel, the judges sat above her, and the couple of faces she knew in the public gallery. "Dr. Scarpetta," George began. "Please would you explain to the court what your usual occupation is?" "I am the Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia," Kay replied, having answered this particular question a thousand times before. "On a day to day basis, this involves investigating suspicious or unexplained deaths. Forensic pathology is often the only way that answers to a question can be found. When a crime is being committed, the perpetrator will regularly make the mistake of assuming that if the victim can't talk, he or she won't eventually be discovered. My job is to assist the police in apprehending such criminals, with the forensic evidence I can compile from examining a dead body." "Dr. Scarpetta," John broke in, receiving a roll of George's eyes for his trouble. "Is your position a political appointment?" "Partly, Your Honour, yes," She answered him. "The Governor of Virginia is my immediate boss, and I also have to abide by the policies that filter down to me via the department for Health and Human Services." "And how long have you held this post?" "For the last twenty-three years, Your Honour." "My Lord, if I might continue?" George asked a little testily. "My apologies, Ms Channing." 

"Dr. Scarpetta, please would you explain to the court what type of technology you will be using to present your evidence?" "When I perform any autopsy, it is part of the routine procedure to excise various tissue samples, which are then fixed in a chemical preservative such as formalin, and which are then made into histological slides that can be examined under a microscope. When I examined Henry Mills body back in October, I took various tissue samples away with me, so that I could have them made into slides back in my office in Virginia, to enable me to examine the samples in the usual way. What I will be doing at some point this morning, is showing various slides in order to explain what I discovered." "Before the prosecuting counsel beats me to it," George continued, flashing a smirk over at Brian. "Would you please attempt to explain why the pathologist who originally examined Henry Mills, did not take advantage of such technological procedures." "I can only hazard a guess on this point," Kay replied carefully. "And that is that the type of investigative technology that is available to me in Virginia, far exceeds what is available to any practicing pathologist in this country. Once or twice a year, I come over here to deliver a lecture programme to the medical students who are taught at St. Mary's Hospital in Paddington. I can certainly say that the autopsy facilities they have there, are not what I am used to finding back in Virginia." 

"What did you discover on initially examining Henry Mills' body?" "Henry Mills had been suffering from terminal lung cancer," Kay began. "His lungs and lymphatic system were in considerably bad shape, as were his liver and kidneys. It may assist the court to be made aware, that as the liver and kidneys make up the body's filtration system, if they are not in full working order, various toxins and chemicals cannot be filtered out in the usual manner. This means that various substances can build up in the body, to highly dangerous levels. When I examined Henry Mills' liver and kidneys, I found significant levels of morphine metabolites, showing that the morphine he had been prescribed, had built up in these organs, leaving him susceptible to a morphine overdose at any time." "Please could you explain to the court, what samples you did take from Henry Mills' body and why?" After asking this, George walked over to the slide projector that stood against the far wall and switched it on, giving it time to warm up. 

"After obtaining Barbara Mills' permission, I gathered various samples from her husband's body, in order to transport them back to my office in Virginia. These were samples from his liver, kidneys, spleen, heart and lungs, in order to determine just how static his body was at the time of death, and to look for any underlying conditions that were not immediately as evident as his cancer was. This was also why I took several samples of blood to use for toxicology screens and for examination of the general levels of chemicals in his blood stream. Perhaps the most significant sample I took with me, was the excised skin and surrounding muscle from the injection site on his left thigh." "Precisely how did you do this?" John yet again broke in on George's questioning. "How did I excise the injection site, Your Honour, or how did I transport everything back to America?" Kay asked, wanting to be absolutely sure of what he wanted from her. "Both," John told her with a slight smile. "I first of all marked out the area that I wanted to excise on his thigh, and then measured it to make sure that I didn't lose any of the muscle tension during the excision. To ensure that the area of skin and muscle remained at its exact measurement, I pinned it on a corkboard, remeasuring it after excision. In this manner, the excised tissue remained exactly as it had been at the time of death. To transport everything I had removed from Henry Mills' body to America, I packed them in dry ice in a sealed box, which I carried with me as hand luggage at all times." "Did you have any problems walking through customs with something like that?" John asked, now infinitely curious. "It happens every time I do it, Your Honour," Kay said with a rueful smile. "Some officials are even stupid enough to attempt to unpack whatever I'm carrying." "I don't doubt," John replied, thinking that this was certainly an extremely resourceful woman. "Oh, please continue, Ms Channing," He added, seeing the fire of irritation burning in George's eyes. 

"What did you do with the various samples on your return to Virginia?" George asked, feeling that it was John acting as defence counsel, not her. "They rested in the refrigerator in my Richmond office until I was ready to begin examining them, at which point I fixed slivers of the organ samples in formalin, which were then made up into histological slides for me." Kay now moved over to the slide projector, and adjusted its focus, the slides having been loaded before hand. "When I examined the tissue sample from Henry Mills' lungs," She said, bringing the image into greater focus. "I obviously found unbreakable evidence of his cancer, both of the primary tumour and the secondary spread of disease. You can see where the spread of secondary cancer had taken over virtually the entire surface of the alveoli, the air sacks, making it increasingly difficult for him to breathe as the end approached." Moving onto the next slide, she continued. "If you look at the sample I took of Henry Mills' right kidney, you can see that the tissue is liberally scarred. His kidneys were also shrunken, meaning that if he hadn't been in the final stages of terminal cancer, he would definitely have been in need of dialysis, the artificial cleaning of the blood. His kidneys were not in any condition to properly filter chemicals and waste products from the body, leaving his blood full of toxins and unfiltered drugs, such as the morphine he had been prescribed." The members of the court were treated to the vastly magnified section of renal tissue, whose surface was unevenly scarred. "If we next look at the histological appearance of Henry Mills' liver, we can see that the surface is grainy, puckered, and in some places slightly nodular. This was undoubtedly caused by the build up of morphine metabolites, meaning that the liver also was unable to work at its usual rate. The decrease in both kidney and liver function, was partly to do with the progress of the cancer itself, and partly due to the increasingly static response that the body would have inevitably lapsed into as he became weaker. If the human body is not moving about, performing the day to day activities that most of us take for granted, various systems will begin to shut down, purely and simply because the body thinks they are no longer required. If Henry Mills hadn't died from the morphine overdose, as I believe he did, he would very soon have died from either the progression of the cancer, or kidney or liver failure. The very last slide that I would like to show you is of the tissue section that I excised from Henry Mills' thigh. This area of skin and muscle was of particular interest to me, as it contained the injection site of the very last dose of morphine that he received. The area that I chose to focus on for obvious reasons was the point at which the hypodermic needle pierced the skin." As she brought this into greater focus, the court was given a view of a hole in the skin that had been magnified to the size of a saucer. "At this magnification," Kay continued. "It is possible to prove, by closely examining the surface of the skin around the edge of the puncture mark, that the needle could only have pierced the skin at a particular angle. Taking this evidence into account, I can categorically state that this injection could not have been given by any hand other than that of Henry Mills himself. If it had been, the needle would have punctured the skin at quite a different angle entirely. Henry Mills gave himself that final injection, not his wife." 

There was a stunned, thought-filled silence. Brian was inwardly cursing all the yanks and their abundance of technology, and both Karen and Yvonne were staring in awe at this incredible expert. "In your considered opinion," George continued quietly, feeling the charge in the air around her, and thinking that Kay hadn't really needed her at all. "How did Henry Mills die?" "I can say, beyond all reasonable doubt," Kay replied, glancing for the first time over at the jury. "That Henry Mills died as a result of a significantly high overdose of morphine, which he undoubtedly administered to himself." "Thank you," George said wholeheartedly, but knowing that Brian's cross-examination was yet to come. 

After the lunchtime adjournment, Brian rose to his feet, with the nastiest expression Jo thought she had ever seen on him. "Tell me, Mrs. Scarpetta," He began silkily. "Why were you investigated by a Richmond special grand jury for the crime of murder?" There was a murmuring both from the public gallery and from the jury, as George rose hurriedly to her feet. "My Lord, is this really relevant?" She demanded, vowing to strangle Brian at the nearest opportunity. "You tell me, Ms Channing," John said thoughtfully. "I think we should hear the answer to such a question." "I was set up, by the brother of a serial killer, to take the blame for the death of Deputy Police Chief Diane Bray. The special grand jury investigated me to see if there was enough evidence to have me indicted for her murder. As I am standing here and not in a Richmond penitentiary, you may assume that I was not indicted." John regarded her with curiosity. He would have put money on the fact that she hadn't ever been in trouble for anything, but it seemed he was wrong. "How long did they take to investigate you?" John asked, now beginning to wonder just how much this woman had put up with over the years. "Just under two months, Your Honour," Kay told him. "Two months of very bad press, almost having to resign from my job, and having most of my closest friends subpoenaed against me." John winced. "But did you not, Mrs. Scarpetta," Cantwell broke in quickly before John could ask anything else. "Throw the preservative substance known as formalin, that you have yourself referred to this morning, into the eyes of a man whom you willingly let into your house?" "He was trying, to kill me," Kay said through slightly gritted teeth. "What did you expect, for me to just stand there and let him?" "She has a point, Mr. Cantwell," John said reasonably. "And I fail to see what relevance this bears to the case in hand." "My Lord, I am simply trying to establish for the benefit of the jury, that this woman is not what she claims to be, and that her testimony is at the very least suspect in its intent." "Don't be ridiculous," George retorted, yet again getting to her feet. "My Lord, you cannot allow this." "Would you not be doing the same if you were in his position?" John asked her silkily, realising too late that he was only adding to her cauldron of anger. "Please continue Mr. Cantwell, as I am forced to admit that you have for once thoroughly piqued my curiosity." 

"Mrs. Scarpetta, could you give the court a satisfactory reason as to why you felt it necessary, to cart a box of body parts half way across the world?" "Before I answer Mr. Cantwell's question, which I did in fact answer this morning, I would like to inform the jury that I am Dr. Scarpetta, not Mrs. Scarpetta. Perhaps Mr. Cantwell would do me the courtesy of remembering that in future. I am entitled to such nomenclature by the following achievements: I am a medical doctor with a law degree. I have a specialty in pathology, with a subspecialty in forensic pathology. I have held the office of Chief Medical Examiner of Virginia for over twenty years, and I also have held the post of consulting forensic pathologist for the FBI. Therefore, I would appreciate being addressed as Dr. Scarpetta in future. As to Mr. Cantwell's question, I took samples of Henry Mills' body back to Virginia with me, purely and simply because the technology available at St. Mary's hospital was not up to the standard of investigation I required, in order to try and secure Barbara Mills' freedom." "Are you certain that it wasn't so that you could manufacture the evidence, out of plain sight of the resident pathologist at St. Mary's?" "My Lord!" Objected Jo and George in unison, both rising to their feet in abject fury. "My Lord, I will not put up with such deformation of my witness's character," Jo insisted vehemently. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you must disregard Mr. Cantwell's last question, as I will not allow it to stand. Mr. Cantwell, unless you have reason and proof to back up your insinuations, do not make them." "Very well, my lord," Brian said almost cheerfully. "As I have far more crushing occurrences to place before the jury concerning this woman." "I bet you do, you oily little bastard," George muttered none too quietly, though she hadn't quite intended John to hear her. "Ms Channing," John said firmly. "You will not use such language in my court. Is that understood?" "Perfectly, My Lord," George drawled back at him, sounding thoroughly unrepentant. 

"Dr. Scarpetta," Cantwell continued almost maliciously. "What are your views on violent crime?" "I abhor violent crime," Kay told him succinctly. "Why else would I be working for state and federal law enforcement?" "An odd opinion," Cantwell said meditatively. "Coming from one who was directly responsible for the deaths of three people. Do you deny that you shot both Frank Aimes and Denesa Steiner, and that you pushed Temple Gault under a train?" There came a muttered Jesus from Yvonne in the gallery. "Mr. Cantwell," Kay replied thoughtfully. "Tell me, have you ever been faced by a serial killer, who is either pointing a gun at you, or holding a scalpel to your niece's throat, quite ready to kill her before your eyes?" "No, of course not," Stammered Cantwell. "But..." "...Then forgive me for dismissing your question with the contempt it deserves," Kay replied coldly. "However, Dr. Scarpetta," Cantwell continued, having regained some of his purpose. "Is it not true that you currently possess the permission to carry a gun in this country?" Jo stared at George. This was something she certainly hadn't been made aware of. "Yes, that is true," Kay replied clearly, trying to maintain the air of being unruffled. "Tell me," Brian said silkily, sounding almost gentle in his persuasion. "Do you have your gun on you now? Are you standing in a British courtroom, carrying the gun with which you have killed two people?" Kay didn't answer. She might have known this would get out somehow, though she cursed whoever had let such a sensitive piece of information out to a snivelling little barrister like this one. "Dr. Scarpetta," John quietly intervened, seeing the combined look of apprehension and resignation on her face. "Please would you come here, and stand before me?" Stepping down from the witness box, Kay approached the bench, standing where John could scrutinize her every inch. He did stare at her, his gaze moving very slowly down her immaculately dressed figure. There it was, the way her blazer wasn't entirely aligned, looking slightly fuller on the left-hand side. "Would you remove your jacket?" He asked her, wanting to prove his suspicion right. As the usher moved to relieve her of her jacket, Kay retrieved Senator Lord's letter from the pocket, knowing that this was something else the Judge would want to see, if she were to get out of this mess unscathed. 

Unbuttoning her dark blue blazer, Kay handed it to the usher, standing in front of the bench in the matching skirt and white silk blouse. Fastened around her torso, was a black leather holster, with the gun hidden snugly along her side under her left arm. Removing the gun from the holster, Kay reached up and laid it before the judge, securing her letter of permission underneath it. John picked up the gun and examined it, briefly wondering what the world had come to, that a woman in his court had to carry such a weapon of destruction. Laying the gun back on the bench, he read the letter, his eyebrows rising almost to meet his hairline at its content. Well, one thing was for sure, this woman certainly did have friends in high places. Handing the letter to Monty, he asked, "Why were you given permission to carry a gun in the UK?" "That isn't a matter I should discuss in open court, Your Honour," Kay told him simply. "Both for my own safety, and that of others." At the end of the front bench, Jo furiously scribbled something on a scrap of paper and then shoved it under George's nose. It simply said: "You knew about this, didn't you!" Turning the piece of paper over, George wrote on the back: "Trust me. I would have told you had I thought it would be important. Shout at me all you like later on." Monty also having read the letter, John handed both it and the gun back to Kay. "This matter is not closed," He told her quietly, so that neither counsel should hear him. Taking her jacket back from the usher, Kay returned to the stand. 

"Dr. Scarpetta," Cantwell continued, feeling a little lost for words. "I have only one more question for you. In your professional opinion, why should the jury take your interpretation of the facts, over that of the previous two experts who have appeared for the prosecution?" "The only answer I can give to your question," Kay said a little wearily. "Is that I have access to far more advanced investigative technology than either of your experts currently do. This has enabled me to conduct far more refined tests on the samples I took from Henry Mills' body. To give both Professor Ryan and Mrs. Beauchamp credit, they have arrived at the answers they were able to arrive at, taking their lack of up to date investigative instruments and procedures into account. I do not apologise for the advantages I have in my Richmond office, but I will acknowledge that I have taken the utmost advantage of the considerable funding that has been accorded by the department of justice, precisely to increase the investigative technology at our disposal." 

"Would you like to come back, Ms Channing?" John asked, wanting to press onto the chat he planned to have with Kay Scarpetta after this. "Yes, My Lord, with your permission," George replied, getting to her feet, and trying to ignore the glare Jo was training on her. "Dr. Scarpetta, when you are presented with a suspicious or an unexplained death, what weight do you give to the possible theories the police may give you?" "I approach every new investigation with an open mind," Kay said firmly. "Whilst the theories of the police should be taken into account, they should definitely not be considered fact, until such fact can be thoroughly proved." "And last but not least," George said, her voice taking on a calm, quiet, utterly entranced tone. "How did one of your closest friends once describe you?" Slightly smiling at her, Kay replied. "Someone whom I have known for many years, once described me as being the doctor who hears the dead, the doctor who sits at the bedside of the dead." "Thank you," George said, trying to put some apology for what had happened into her voice. 

John sat for a moment, just watching this complete enigma before him. Those last words, that sentiment was so pure, so simple, that he could not begin to put that description with the woman who carried a gun, and who had clearly used it to end not one but two lives. "Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning," He said, sounding utterly preoccupied. But as the court rose and voices began murmuring in response to the day's session, he added a little louder, "Dr. Scarpetta, I would appreciate it if you would join me in chambers, immediately." "Without a chaperone, My Lord?" George couldn't help but ask. "Yes, Ms Channing. Any objections?" John replied, always wanting the last word. "Plenty, My Lord, but I think the court has had quite enough shocks for one day." 


	94. Chapter 94

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Ninety-Four

As Jo, George and Kay emerged from court, Jo's anger boiled over. "You owe me about a hundred explanations," Jo hissed at George. "Right now." "And I'll give you plenty of explanations when we're somewhere not quite so public," George threw back, talking out of the side of her m know, you tell me," Jo retorted. Forcefully dragging Jo out of the stream of people on their way out of court, George said, "Do you want Brian Cantwell to think he's won?" "No, of course not," Jo replied, not immediately understanding George's point. "Then shut up, and wait until we're somewhere a little more private before you really unleash your anger. All right?" "Fine," Jo agreed curtly. "But this is not over, not by any means." Turning back to where Kay was watching them, George said, "His Lordship wishes to sDo you want Brian Cantwell to think he's won?" "No, of course not," Jo replied, not immediately understanding George's point. "Then shut up, and wait until we're somewhere a little more private before you really unleash your anger. All right?" "Fine," Jo agreed curtly. "But this is not over, not by any means." Turning back to where Kay was watching them, George said, "His Lordship wishes to see you in chambers, doesn't he." "Probably to ask for the same explanations Jo wants from you," Kay told her. "I'll take you up there then." 

As they moved towards the stairs and began to climb them, George added, "Jo and I will almost certainly be arguing in my car, as it's pouring with rain and I definitely need a cigarette before trying to sort this one out." "George, I'm sorry if this has caused any undue friction," Kay said quietly, not forgetting that Jo and George were very much more than just colleagues. "It had to happen at some point during this trial," George said philosophically. "I'm just surprised it's taken this long." When they reached the door of John's chambers, George knocked. When he bade them to enter, George opened the door and held it for Kay to pass her. "Dr. Scarpetta, My Lord," George drawled, sounding thoroughly uninterested. "Are you staying?" John asked her as Kay moved into the room. "Not unless my presence is required, My Lord, no, though I will take this opportunity to inform My Lord, that if there is any hint of improper conduct towards my witness, My Lord will be for the high jump. Is that understood?" "Perfectly, Ms Channing," John replied, as George backed out and closed the door. 

When George had gone, John asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" "Thank you," Kay replied, sitting down in one of the armchairs. Her eyes briefly strayed to the sofa, where she assumed that George had seen John and Connie together. After handing her the cup, John took a seat opposite her. "I confess to finding you something of an enigma," He began carefully. "You aren't the first to say so," Kay told him with a guarded smile. "What made you want to work for law enforcement?" He asked, thinking this to be the crux of the whole matter. "I didn't do it to end up killing people," Kay told him firmly. "But as you heard in court, on three occasions it was either my life or theirs." "That's not something I can easily imagine," John admitted, feeling that even though he had been practicing law for many years, this woman's experience of real life far outweighed his own. "I'm not sure what it is you want to know," Kay replied, briefly wondering why it was that she always had to provide explanations for actions that had been precipitated by some of the most violent people imaginable. "Tell me about Temple Gault," John said quietly, wondering if he really did have the right to ask her such a thing. "Gault was on the FBI's 'Ten Most Wanted' list, for killing several people, possibly more than we ever knew of. He was blonde-haired, blue-eyed, classically beautiful in some respects. His partner in crime, Carrie Grethin, got herself a job at the FBI's Engineering Research Facility, where she seduced my niece, Lucy. A few months later, in early January, we caught up with the pair of them in New York. Carrie was apprehended in the Bowery, and I caught up with Gault in the subway tunnel. When I reached him, he was holding Lucy hostage, with one of my own scalpels that he'd stolen from my office held to her throat." She took a sip of her tea, this story almost making her throat go dry. "Do you mind if I smoke?" She asked him, wanting the cigarette to buy her some time as well as for its calming influence. "It isn't usually permitted inside this building," John told her, seeing her inner distress. "But do feel free to open the window." As she walked across the room and pushed up the sash, Kay found herself to be relieved at no longer having to look at him. When she'd lit a cigarette and taken a long drag, she continued. "I did a deal with him, because I knew that Lucy wasn't really what he wanted. So, Lucy got away, and I was left with Gault. I can't entirely remember what happened next, except that I ended up with the scalpel, and I stabbed him in the thigh. He was stood there, bleeding to death in front of me, begging me to help him. It was odd, but in that moment, he didn't look like a killer any more, just another human being who didn't want to die. I think I pushed him under an oncoming train, because I quite literally didn't know what else to do. It's probably the one violent act that has haunted me intermittently ever since. Other things that I've seen and done creep into my dreams every so often, but not nearly as much as that does. So, I do my job to the best of my ability, so that others can be given the type of answers that I have never been able to find for myself. I expect that sounds a lot more trite than it's meant to be." "No, not at all," John replied, his interest in this woman only partly quenched. "How much of this did George know before today?" "When she first engaged my services back in October, I told her to go and look up as much of my press as she could find, before deciding whether or not she, they, wanted me to testify, which they did. If you want the full story, ask her to show you what she found. It'll keep even you entertained for hours." John laughed. "Why even me?" "A slip of the tongue," Kay responded with a completely straight face, blowing more smoke out of the window. "How much has George told you about me?" He asked. "Probably too much," Kay said a little coolly. "I sense a mental if not a verbal rebuke behind those deep blue eyes," John said thoughtfully. After taking the last drag from her cigarette and flicking the end out of the window, Kay walked back over to her chair. Once seated, she said, "I don't like what you did to her, Judge." "Ah," Was all John could say. He might have known this would happen. "I do appreciate that it is absolutely none of my business," Kay continued. "But you didn't see how hurt she was. She tried to hide it, but not with very much success." "I'm not exactly proud of it," John said quietly. "And none of us are perfect," Kay told him matter-of-factly, thinking of the years she'd spent helping Benton to cheat on his wife, funnily enough also called Connie. "Do you think she'll talk to me?" He asked, the note George had left on his computer still haunting him. "I don't know," Kay replied quietly, thinking of just how much George was keeping from him. "But that wasn't why you got me up here, was it," She added, wanting to get back to the matter in hand. "I'm not used to having any kind of gun in my courtroom," John said firmly. "Whatever the reason." "Believe me, I wouldn't have brought it with me if I hadn't thought it necessary," Kay told him. "The case I am in the middle of back home is directly aimed at me. Several women have been killed, all of whom look as much like me as possible, and all of whom are killed in places that I have recently left. The last that I know of was killed in the vicinity of JFK Airport, which was where I flew from to come over here. It was deemed prudent for me to be armed over here, as we don't yet know to what lengths this killer will go to in order to perpetrate his crimes. He is clearly aiming to eventually kill me, and is currently making do with any woman of similar appearance. That is why I carry my gun with me in any public setting. Quite how the prosecuting counsel found out about it, is something I would very much like to know." "Thank you for telling me," John said earnestly. "What you are doing is perfectly understandable, though I wish I had been informed beforehand." 

When Jo and George got into George's car, they immediately lit up cigarettes. The wind and rain were buffeting against the windscreen, seeming to illustrate both their moods. "Go on," Jo began. "I'm listening." "Kay brought her gun over here, and is carrying it virtually everywhere, because of the case she is involved in back in America," George explained, filling in the details as best she knew how. "I didn't know she'd brought it with her, until I took her a cup of tea on the first morning she was here. There it was, staring up at me from the bedside table. It was quite a shock, I can tell you." "I'll bet," Jo said ruefully. "Quite how Brian found out about it is anyone's guess," George said bitterly. "I might see if Daddy can do a bit of digging." "You should have told me," Jo said a little coldly. "What happened, didn't you trust me or something?" "Don't be ridiculous," George replied testily. "It had nothing to do with trust. Well, perhaps Kay's trust, I'll give you that. This was her story to tell, Jo, not mine. If I'd thought for one moment that it would come out in court, then of course I would have told you." "George, just because you are used to routinely suppressing important evidence, all in the name of rich, corrupt clients, does not mean I automatically do the same." "Shall I take that as a complement?" George goaded her, now really riled. "Because you're really beginning to make me wonder why you accepted my help on this case in the first place." "I didn't have a lot of choice, if I remember rightly," Jo threw back. "You know you did," George said bitterly. "If you really hadn't wanted me to be involved, then you could quite easily have said so. But you didn't, did you." "George, you can't keep important things like the mere presence of a firearm from me, if we're going to work together," Jo insisted, not wanting to look at George's previous statement too closely. "Jo, do you want me to continue working on this case, or don't you?" George demanded, now wanting nothing more than a straight answer. As she said this, the back doors of the car were unceremoniously opened, and Karen and Yvonne slid into the backseat. "Have you two stopped bickering yet?" Yvonne asked curtly, receiving a throbbing silence in return. "I'll take that as a no," She continued. "I was just asking Jo whether or not she still wanted my assistance with this case," George told them unfairly. "And I haven't yet received an answer." "I'm the one paying the fees here," Yvonne said firmly. "Not Jo. I'm paying both of you to get Barbara found not guilty, and I am not paying you to fight over something quite so bloody stupid!" "Oh, and carrying a gun into a courtroom isn't stupid?" Demanded Jo. "Not if it's absolutely necessary, no, it's not," Yvonne told her succinctly. "And someone like Kay isn't going to do that without a bloody good reason." "And do you have any thoughts on this, Karen?" Jo demanded tartly. "Oh, leave me out of it," Karen said without a flicker. "It's not my fight." "It isn't going to be anyone's fight," Yvonne said firmly. "Yes, George should have told Jo about Kay's gun, and Jo, you need to calm down about something that really isn't a problem. So, quieten down, and kiss and make up, the pair of you." There was silence in the car, apart from the patter of rain on the windows. As she was the one who had something to apologise for, George leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Jo's lips. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," She said quietly. "I know," Jo said softly, briefly kissing her back. "That's better," Yvonne said cheerfully. "Now, why don't we all go for a well-deserved drink?" "I've got to wait for Kay," George said, "but we could join you as soon as she appears." ""Good," Yvonne said as she opened the car door. "We'll be in that bar where we used to go during Lauren's trial." 

When Kay had left, John strolled thoughtfully along to Monty's chambers. "Ah, John, I wondered what had become of you," Monty said when he appeared. "Would a large scotch be somewhat appreciated?" "Definitely," John said with a mental stretch. "Today has certainly been one of those days, hasn't it?" "John, I am coming to the conclusion that every day of your trials is like that," Monty said with a rueful smile. "I've just had a very interesting conversation with Kay Scarpetta," John told him, after taking a grateful sip of the scotch. "And I promise you, she really does have a very good reason for carrying a gun with her at all times, though I am loathed to admit that it is necessary in my own courtroom." As he filled in the details for Monty's benefit, Monty's eyebrows rose. "It sounds as though she's an extremely capable girl," He said in awe when John had finished. "I think they have to be in a job like hers," John said thoughtfully. "It's not a life I would want to lead." "You do lead it in a manner every day of your working life," Monty told him. "We all do. Granted, we aren't usually in the same sort of danger that one of her calibre may be, but we are still fighting the battles that need to be fought, or at least overseeing them." 

After a thoughtful silence, Monty said, "John, there is a matter that I would like to discuss with you, that isn't directly trial related. Well, partly it is, but not entirely." "You're talking in riddles, Monty," John said with a smile. "Connie Beauchamp," Monty said simply, watching the blank, shuttered expression on John's face. "What about her?" John asked guardedly. "George's voice does carry, John," Monty informed him. "Especially at the time of day when this place is pretty quiet. She was absolutely right, you know. If you and Connie Beauchamp had been discovered by Ian Rochester, you'd have no doubt been packed off to Warwick again." "Are you going to report me?" John asked, seeing that it would be pointless to deny what he'd done with Connie last Tuesday. "No, I'm not, but I had hoped that you might have learnt your lesson after last time." "Vivian Hurst wasn't a patch on Connie Beauchamp," John said thoughtfully. "Though I shouldn't say it." "Why do you do it, John?" "That's rich, Monty," John said with a laugh. "Perhaps," Monty agreed amicably. "But I sometimes think that you are the one who more rightly deserves the name that I am aware is often accorded to me." "I didn't get a court reporter pregnant," John said quietly. "Only through sheer luck," Monty threw back disgustedly. "John, not only do you have one beautiful woman who loves you, something for which many men would give their right arm for, but you have two, two women who would give almost anything to keep you happy, to say nothing of their feelings for each other." "How on earth do you know about that?" John asked, utterly stunned. "You should see the way you all look at each other sometimes," Monty said almost wistfully. "Something you really ought not to throw away for the likes of the most enticing prosecution witness I've seen in a long time. They don't deserve it, John, and it's about time you realised what you've got." 


	95. Chapter 95

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Ninety-Five

When Jo arrived at court on the Tuesday morning, her head was foggy and aching. This was entirely her own fault she knew, but that didn't exactly make her feel any better. Tom Campbell-Gore would be on the stand today, and she luckily couldn't foresee any major problems with his testimony, or the questions that the prosecution might fire back at him. She was standing outside on the steps, having a cigarette to try and clear her head, and to prepare herself for the onslaught to come. When Tom himself walked through the heavy, swing doors behind her, she gave him a slightly wan smile. "You here already?" She asked, not having thought he would arrive till almost the last minute. "I wanted to be here in good time," He told her, eyeing her cigarette and following it up to the slightly bloodshot eyes that were squinting at him through the flame. "Are you all right?" He asked, thinking that he'd seen that look far too often on himself over the years. "It's entirely my own fault," Jo found herself admitting. "So I don't expect any sympathy." "Try diet coke," Tom told her matter-of-factly. "It's the best hangover cure in the business, and I should know." "Thank you," Jo replied with a smile. "By the way, I hope you're aware that the time prior to your recovery might be something that the prosecution could choose to focus on." "Oh, don't you worry," Tom told her confidently. "There isn't anything they can throw at me that I didn't have thrown at me at the time. The surgeon who discovered my predilection to drinking was less than impressed to say the least." "Just as long as you're ready for it," Jo said, feeling a duty to look after this man while he was on the stand, no matter how ready for it he thought he was. 

When the court reconvened, Tom took the bible in his right hand and intoned the oath, wondering just how many people had stood here like this before him. "Mr. Campbell-Gore," Jo began, sounding a lot more calm and confident than she really felt. "In your experience in cardio thoracics, what treatment might you have attempted, if you had been presented with a patient such as Henry Mills?" "There is no doubt," Tom replied amicably. "That Henry Mills' cancer was extremely developed, with the possible options for treatment being considerably limited. I may have attempted some form of surgery, in order to relieve his immediate difficulties, though this would not have had any meaningful effect on the time he had left to live." "What opinion would you give," Continued Jo. "On the surgeon who decided that operating on Henry Mills was not a viable option?" "To give Mrs. Beauchamp her due," Tom said carefully. "The fact that she decided against surgery as a possible treatment option, does not mean that she was in any way derelict in her duties. One professional opinion is as good as another in this case, and surgery would only have made a slight difference in his general condition." "What life expectancy would you have given Henry Mills, from the time of his diagnosis?" "I would never have given either him or his wife a precise idea of how long Henry Mills would live," Tom said firmly. "When giving any such patient an idea of how long they might have to live, it is always safest to be less precise than Mrs. Beauchamp apparently was, for example to say months rather than years, or days rather than weeks. I would have said to Henry Mills that he may live a few weeks, or that he may live a few months, and that I couldn't possibly be more precise than that. This is because all cancers affect their sufferers in different ways, meaning that each patient will cope in a different manner, which can mean the difference between living weeks or months." 

"Taking your years of experience into account," George said, rising to her feet as Jo sat down. "What would the increasing amount of pain done to Henry Mills' state of mind?" "I am not a psychiatrist," Tom said with half a smile. "But I can suggest that the pain, which would have undoubtedly increased as time went by, may possibly have rendered him vulnerable to feelings of depression and a wish for it all to end. No one could possibly blame him for seeking such a way out." "Do you believe this to be what happened with Henry Mills?" George asked, thinking Tom's description to be a particularly poignant one, all to the good where the jury was concerned. "I have no particular reason for believing otherwise," Tom said without a flicker. "I did not personally deal with Henry Mills at the point of his diagnosis or palliative care, but having since discussed this case with his wife, I do not believe that she could possibly have killed him, no matter how much he might have wanted to die." 

"Mr. Campbell-Gore," Brian said as he rose swiftly to his feet. "Do you ever take risks?" "Frequently," Tom replied mildly. "But only ever in my patient's best interest." "Does the name Kate Louis mean anything to you?" Brian asked silkily, immediately putting both Jo and George on the alert. "Seeing as both Kate and Louis are fairly common names," Tom replied amicably. "No, they don't." "Kate Louis was a patient of yours, back in January 2004. She was suffering from Marfan's Syndrome. Would you like to explain to the court what Marfan's Syndrome is?" "Marfan's Syndrome is quite literally a bulging of the aorta, the main blood vessel leading from the heart that supplies the rest of the body. As the patient's blood pressure increases, the stress point in the aorta becomes steadily thinner and more inclined to rupture." "When you diagnosed Kate Louis as having Marfan's Syndrome," Brian continued. "You decided, in your professional judgment, that you could operate on her to repair her aorta, an operation that would involve putting her into deep hypothermia. Please would you explain to the court what this means for the patient concerned?" "Putting a patient into deep hypothermia involves draining their heart of blood, and therefore depriving their brain of a blood supply for no longer than forty-five minutes. It is extremely risky, but in this case, I felt that it was Kate Louis's only option if she wanted to live." "What are the risks involved in performing such a procedure?" "If the brain is deprived of oxygen for too long, any amount of physical or mental disabilities can occur. The patient was warned of the risks, but she chose to take the chance to live." "Might I take this opportunity to inform the court," Brian said with a sadistic smile on his face. "That you chose to perform such a dangerous and risky operation, after you had fulfilled the requirements of an entire day's list, and whilst you were involved in a very busy nightshift, therefore meaning that you were possibly not at your best. Do you deny that this may have been a possibility?" "I do not operate on patients unless I can offer them my absolute best," Tom said firmly and clearly. 

"Mr. Campbell-Gore," Brian continued almost conversationally, giving no warning whatsoever that he was about to hopefully topple the witness. "Do you deny that you are a recovering alcoholic?" "Not in the least," Tom said mildly, having been well and truly prepared for this. "However, might you seek to deny that you did, on numerous occasions, operate whilst clearly intoxicated?" "To my utmost displeasure, no, I do not deny such a fact." "Did your drinking ever cause you to take unnecessary risks in the operating theatre?" "No, I don't consider that it did." "But how can you be sure?" "Mr. Cantwell," Tom replied firmly and with a slight hint of anger in his voice. "I may have found it necessary at one time to take a swig of vodka before entering the operating theatre, but under no circumstances did my addiction put any of my patients at risk." "Taking your addiction into account, why should the court take one word you say with more than a pinch of salt?"

"Mr. Cantwell," John broke in firmly, demanding his and everyone else's immediate attention. "You will not continue with this line of questioning. I am certain that the court will agree with me, when I say that to overcome such an addiction and to come out the other side of the relevant treatment for it, is an undoubtedly enormous achievement. Such an achievement can only be commended, and will not, in my court, be used as ammunition to attempt to discredit this or any other witness." "I am much obliged, My Lord," Tom told him, seeing a real depth of understanding in this judge, and wondering just how far Jo Mills' drinking put her at risk from the same traumas as he had been forced to endure. 


	96. Chapter 96

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Ninety-Six

When Zubin frantically brought his car to a stop in the car park of the Old Bailey, he knew he was going to be late. What ought to have been a routine operation had been prolonged into something far more serious, making him extremely late in leaving for court. But as he strode purposefully towards the enormous old building, he saw George, stood on the steps outside the front doors, smoking. "I was wondering when you would turn up," She said as he approached. "I thought I was going to be late," he said, stopping next to her and sounding a little breathless. "Don't worry," George told him placatingly. "Court isn't starting for another ten minutes, so you've got plenty of time. Take a deep breath and calm down. We'll look after you." Doing as she'd said, he eyed her thoughtfully. "Do you know just how bad for your health that is?" He couldn't help asking, as she exhaled a plume of smoke. "Oh, and isn't sleeping with women who get paid for it also bad for one's health?" "Thank you for the reminder," Zubin said caustically. "Oh, well, at least the prosecution doesn't know about that," George said with a smile. "At least I don't think they do. I've had tabs on Brian Cantwell since the word go." "You start to sound more and more like Connie every time I speak to you," Zubin said darkly. George laughed. "Did she tell you about the roasting I gave her last week?" "No," Zubin said looking very interested all of a sudden. "She's actually been very quiet about her time in court." "I bet she has," George said with some amusement. "Just remember how lucky you are that you're on the right side in this case." 

When Zubin finally stood in the witness box, he remembered her words, and thought that yes, he certainly did have the better end of the deal. "Professor Khan," Jo began. "What does your job mean to you?" "My job is ultimately about relieving a person's pain," Zubin replied, trying to remember that lecture he'd once given in the company of Ric, where he'd also uttered such sentiments. "From initial diagnosis to either complete cure or time of death, I am responsible for either completely anaesthetising a patient, or doing my utmost to control the pain they feel. Just as much of my work is spent in post-operative pain management as it is in pre-operative anaesthetic. Nothing can quite compare, to the knowledge that I have been able to even slightly assuage the pain a person feels whilst suffering from any disease or injury." "In your profession as an anaesthetist," Jo continued. "How does it allow you to interact with that of the surgeons around you?" "We are all part of a team," Zubin told the court confidently. "I anaesthetise the patient, and the surgeons operate on him or her, with the nurses and physicians taking over after we have completed our work, though some say the work of a doctor is never done. If we did not work as a team, no patient would ever survive their encounters with us." 

"How much did you actually see of Henry Mills, during the few weeks that preceded his death?" "I generally saw Henry on a twice weekly basis, where I would assess his deteriorating condition, and prescribe the relevant doses of Morphine. These last few visits were performed at his home, as he was unable to continue making the journey to the hospital. This was by no means uncommon, as I do it with several of my patients who decide to remain at home in the final stages of their illness." "How well did you get to know his wife?" "Naturally I got to know Mrs. Barbara Mills extremely well, as she was primarily in charge of administering her husband's Morphine. I found her to be a warm, sympathetic, very caring woman, and a woman in whom I had complete faith to take care of her husband in his final weeks." "How supportive were you," Jo asked him carefully. "Of her decision to care for Henry at home?" "Once I met her and assessed her capability for such a task, I was entirely agreeable to her doing this," Zubin replied without any hesitation. "Barbara was taught how to administer the Morphine, plus the other drugs that Henry was taking. She was perfectly competent in performing these tasks, and she did not present me with any cause for concern at her choice to care for her husband at home. As I have said before, many spouses or partners do choose to do this, and it is most commendable when such a choice is taken." 

"Finally, Professor Khan," Jo said a little somberly. "Did it surprise you to hear that Henry Mills had killed himself?" "Yes," Zubin replied with equal weighting to his tone. "Henry had always struck me as a practical, straight-thinking, no-nonsense kind of man, and I would never have expected the thought of suicide to enter his head, but one should never underestimate what severe pain can do to a person's mind. We as professionals can have no real idea what our patients suffer, unless we have been through similar experiences ourselves, which most of us haven't." "Thank you, Professor Khan," Jo said as she retook her seat, signalling the end of the questioning from the defence. 

"Professor Khan," Brian said as he rose to his feet. "Why, if you say that one should never make assumptions as to what one patient can stand, did the issue of possible suicide attempts never cross your mind with regards to Henry Mills?" "Because, as I have already stated," Zubin said a little testily. "Neither he nor his wife ever gave me reason to consider it as a possibility. As I saw it, they were both dealing with his illness in a practical, wholly pragmatic fashion, something I wish I could see in all my patients. The only point of real concern that Henry ever voiced in my presence, was that having to care for him on an almost constant basis was clearly exhausting his wife. He didn't want her to become ill herself in caring for him. He clearly loved his wife, and didn't want to be a burden to her." There was a slight silence in the court as these words were taken in and digested, because Zubin had far too clearly spelt out to the jury what Barbara's life would have been like. In just those few words, he had fully illustrated the picture of her life with a dying Henry. "Taking all this into account," Brian continued a little carefully. "What makes you assume that his wife is innocent?" "You didn't see the way that Barbara cared for her husband, day in day out," Zubin said fervently. "She would no more have killed him, than I would deny my patient the correct dose of anaesthetic during an operation. Barbara devoted every ounce of energy she had to caring for Henry, to administering his pain relief, and to making him feel as loved as she could. I saw evidence of this every single time I visited him. It is extremely rare that I consider a terminally ill cancer patient to be lucky, but in a way, Henry was. He couldn't have asked for better care, or a more loving wife. That is why Barbara is innocent of the crime of which she is accused, because she simply could not have performed such an act, even to help her husband out of the pain-filled hell he was inhabiting." Zubin knew that he had been treading on thin ice with this one, because he was well aware of Barbara's previous imprisonment and why she had been there, but he'd felt it to be the right thing to say. 

After listening to Zubin's heartfelt reasoning, John took a moment to survey this man stood before him. He looked like a professor, that was true, and he looked like someone who would mean every word he uttered, if only to insist on his own superiority. But he had been sincere in his pronouncements of Barbara's innocence, John knew that, and when Brian sat down, clearly having no more questions for the Professor, John simply said, "Court will adjourn till ten tomorrow morning," Before rising from his throne and retreating through the door behind the judge's bench. 


	97. Chapter 97

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Ninety-Seven

It was early Tuesday afternoon, and Kay was tidying up after a morning of demonstrating various autopsy techniques. This was a pretty dull part of the job, but a necessary one if the next generation of medical examiners, or pathologists as they called them in this country, were to be brought into being. She knew that Zubin was in court this afternoon, and hoped that that ass-hole of a prosecuting barrister wouldn't give him as rough a ride as he'd given her. Kay in her role of expert witness was used to the likes of him, though it had been something of a shock to have to show her gun like that yesterday. But as she wheeled the autopsy tables back into position after cleaning, the phone in the morgue office began to ring. 

When she picked it up, Tom's voice greeted her. "Kay, it's Tom Campbell-Gore." "Tom," She replied with a smile. "What can I do for you?" "I'm in theatre and could do with a spare pair of hands. Are you available?" "On my way," Kay told him succinctly. "Where are you?" "Fifth floor, Keller theatre, next door to Darwin." Slamming down the phone, Kay rapidly made her way along the endless corridors and up in the lift to the fifth floor. Following the signs to the Darwin and Keller operating theatres, she pushed her way through the heavy swing doors. "Kay, good to see you," Tom greeted her. "Will's next door with Connie doing a heart and lung transplant, so I've got no registrar. I thought you wouldn't mind a chance to assist." "Are you sure I'm up to the job?" Kay asked, hoping that Tom's faith in her skill would be substantiated. "Of course you are," Tom assured her. "Now, we've got an RTA with chest and abdominal trauma. He's got part of the steering-wheel lodged in his chest, so I need you to hold it still while I cut around it." "Just let me get scrubbed up," Kay replied, also noticing that they weren't alone. When she returned, gloved, gowned and scrubbed, to stand opposite Tom at the top end of the table, her eyes strayed to the two surgeons at the lower end of the table. "Ric, Diane, this is Dr. Kay Scarpetta," Tom introduced them. "Ric Griffin, and Diane Lloyd his registrar." "Good to have you with us," Ric said, glancing over at her. "Zubin's told me a lot about you." "I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or bad," Kay said ruefully, turning her attention to the twisted piece of metal and plastic sticking out of the man's chest. "I take it he wasn't wearing a seatbelt," She said, the disgust and resignation there for all to hear. "No," Tom replied exasperatedly. "Stupid fool. I need to do a thoracotomy in order to determine just how far this thing has gone into his chest. I need you to hold this very, very still, so that it doesn't do even more damage while I'm cutting round it." As Kay did his bidding, holding the piece of steering-wheel with one hand, and handing him various instruments with the other, she took a look at what the other two were doing lower down. Ric was standing next to her, with Diane opposite him next to Tom. Feeling her gaze on him, Ric looked up. "This man also managed to give himself a lot of blunt trauma to the abdomen, rupturing his spleen and tearing the liver." "I take it General surgery is your specialty," Kay said, just making polite conversation. "Absolutely right," Ric said as he extracted a piece of spleen with the forceps. "You can be dealing with breast tumours one day and bowel resections the next." "Variety is the spice of life, isn't that what you're always telling me?" Diane said as she used the suction to remove a lot of freestanding blood from the perritoneal cavity. "I get quite enough variety in cardio thoracics, thank you very much," Tom said dryly. "Yeah, and get to play god at the same time," Ric put in much to Diane's and Kay's amusement. "How do you like working with the living for a change?" Diane asked Kay. "It's an opportunity I wouldn't have missed," Kay said without a flicker. "You can come into my theatre anytime," Tom told her with absolute certainty. "Now that is an offer you can't refuse," Diane teased him. "Where's Ed Keating today?" Ric asked, wondering at the absence of Tom's usual registrar. "He called in sick," Tom replied disgustedly. "Probably with a hangover." "Well, you should know," Ric responded amicably. "Anyway," Tom continued, ignoring Ric's comment. "I think he spent the night with Sr. Williams last night." "Chrissie really does get around, doesn't she," Diane said thoughtfully. 

As Tom finished cutting around the piece of steering wheel, Kay removed it and handed it to the theatre nurse. "That might be needed as evidence," Kay said, her usual career slipping easily into place. "We have a true investigator in our midst," Ric commented with a smile. "This isn't just your average investigator," Tom informed him. "Kay is the Chief, Medical examiner of Virginia, no less." "Wow," Diane said, sounding clearly impressed. "Zubin didn't tell us that." "It's not always all it's cracked up to be," Kay said with a sardonic smile. "But I've never wanted to do anything else." "Oh, and I thought that spending time in my theatre might have tempted you back into the fold," Tom drawled, trying to sound disappointed. "Tom," Kay replied with a broad smile. "Spending time in your theatre has been and always will be, if I get the chance to do it again, nothing but a sincere pleasure." "And with Tom," Ric put in dryly. "Flattery will get you anywhere." "Now then, Dr. Chief," Tom teased her. "Would you like to stitch that tear in the left lung for me?" "By all means, Mr. Campbell-Gore," Kay replied, putting extra emphasis on the Mister. Working with her hands inside this living, breathing chest, Kay wondered why she had always been determined to work with the dead and not the living. Anna was right, she was the doctor who sat at the bedside of the dead, but now, here, she was at the bedside of the living. "What thoughts are going through that brain as we speak?" Ric asked Kay, feeling the mental energy coming off her in a wave. Kay briefly glanced up from her needlework. "I was just wondering what I've been missing all these years," She told him thoughtfully. "I've worked with the dead for the greater part of my life. Working with the living again, it's quite, something." Kay's response was undeniably guarded, but all three of them could tell that it was really a very enlightening experience for her. 

After they'd finished in theatre, Kay put her emerging idea into action. Ever since she'd discovered that Ric Griffin dealt with breast tumours, she had been vaguely planning what she might say to him concerning George. Now that she knew about George's steadily growing problem, she couldn't just ignore it, no matter how much George might want her to do so. She didn't have to give anyone George's name, but nothing would stop her from at least seeking some advice on George's behalf. Leaving Tom to deal with the patient's relatives, Kay walked through to Keller ward, separated from Darwin by nothing more than a nurses' station, and began looking for Ric's office. "Can I help you?" A nurse enquired of her, whose name badge said Sr. Lisa Fox. "I'm looking for Mr. Griffin's office," Kay told her. "Just down there," Lisa said, pointing down the corridor. "He is in there." Walking to where Lisa had gestured, Kay knocked, the deep, gravelly voice bidding her to come in. When Kay pushed open the door, she found a very cluttered room, containing endless filing cabinets, a well-worn desk and a slightly battered sofa. "Dr. Scarpetta," Ric said, looking up in surprise. "What can I do for you?" "I'm on the hunt for a little advice," She said, coming straight to the point. "Take a seat," Ric invited, gesturing to the sofa. "Would you like some coffee?" "Thank you," Kay replied gratefully. "I suspect we could both do with it after that operation." "Our plastics expert, Carlos Fishola, once said that this place is getting more like Miami everyday," Ric commented dryly. "Miami was where I grew up," Kay told him with a wry smile. "So I can definitely see the resemblance." Putting his head out of his office door, Ric called to Donna and asked her to make two cups of coffee. "What did your last slave die of?" Donna replied with a grin. "The shock when I gave her a pay rise," Ric told her smartly. Closing the door again, he said, "Donna makes the best coffee round here because she comes to work with hangovers so regularly that she lives on the stuff." "I'm glad to see that some things haven't changed since I was in med school," Kay said ruefully. "I think the late nights and the hangover remedies are part of the territory." 

When Donna had returned with the coffee and left them to it, Ric said, "So, how can I help?" "I have a friend," Kay said carefully, thinking that George did now fit into that category. "Who has a lump in her breast, but who hasn't yet sought any treatment." "Is this an actual friend," Ric replied knowingly. "Or is this the kind of friend whose existence miraculously disappears when you realise you can trust me." Kay smiled. "No, this is an actual, entirely real friend. If I were the one with the problem, I wouldn't be so stupid as to leave it quite so long. I've far too often had the consequences of such actions on my slab in the morgue to think of doing the same." "Well then," Ric said with professionalism dripping from every syllable. "You need to persuade your friend to come forward. We can't help her if she doesn't." "She's terrified," Kay told him. "And entirely fixated on how she may look if she should be forced to have her breast removed." "Which is entirely natural," Ric said with sympathy. "But the longer she leaves it, the more likely such an outcome is. How old is she?" "I'm not sure, but late forties I think. She is also a smoker, but then so are too many of us who know better, and she has a nice little line in anorexia. She says that she's had the lump since Christmas, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was a little white lie in there somewhere." "Have you seen it?" Ric asked, making a few notes on this case who didn't yet have a name. "No, I've had no reason to see it. If I was back home in the States, I'd simply take her to a surgeon myself without any problems, but that's not how you do things over here, is it." "No," Ric said thoughtfully. "Patients are always referred by the GP's. It tends to cut down on the time wasters who have more money than sense." "The less people I have to persuade her to talk to about this the better," Kay said succinctly. "Is there any way she could bypass that system?" Steepling his fingers on the pile of papers in front of him, Ric stared up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to unravel this little quandary. "You're a fully licensed doctor," he began contemplatively. "You'd have to be to be able to operate like you did this afternoon. Tell me, would she be an NHS patient or private." "Private, without a doubt," Kay said without hesitation. "Someone like her isn't going to be without medical insurance." "Then that makes things a little easier," Ric said, hitting on the correct course of action. "I'll make her an appointment on my private list, and you can refer her to me." "Is that permitted over here?" "In private medicine, anything is possible," Ric told her cynically. "What I would need you to do, to make it as authentic as possible, is to first examine her, make sure she isn't worrying over nothing, and write me a letter to that effect which she can bring with her when she comes to see me." Picking up the phone, he punched in the number for the private hospital where he and most of his colleagues did a stint every week. Having spoken to one of the nurses in the general surgery department, he arranged an appointment for a week on Thursday, Kay having told him that George wouldn't be able to do anything till that week. "Do we have a name?" Ric asked Kay with a raised eyebrow. "George Channing," Kay told him, feeling that she had finally done something to help, whether or not it would actually be appreciated was a different matter. When Ric had put the phone down and given Kay the appointment time, his door was thrust unceremoniously open to reveal Diane. "Sorry," Diane said apologetically. "I didn't realise you had company. We've got a bowel perforation in theatre." "Oh, the day just gets better and better," Ric said dryly, getting up from behind his desk. "Thank you," Kay said gratefully. "I'll make sure she turns up, even if I have to stay here and drag her there myself." 


	98. Chapter 98

Part Ninety-Eight

George had slipped so easily into her familiar pattern of doing her section of her preparation for the events for the next day that it only dawned on her that she hadn't seen so much of Jo recently. There were a number of ready explanations that she could use to excuse, to justify herself. She was used to the sheer hard work that a protracted trial demanded but these were civil cases where the difference meant whether or not her client paid out or did not large sums of money. It all seemed terrifically important at the time. For the first time in her life, she was the right side of the fence in deciding on the future of a human being in a criminal court. She could understand how Jo got so emotional about such matters even if she didn't share Jo's sentiments. She dare not let herself go and be sure that she could give of her best. In court, she knew only too well that only stone cold objectivity served her client best.In that way, she squared that circle nicely. When it came down to it, she admitted to herself, while Kay pottered about upstairs, she felt bone weary and really not up to socializing. That stray thought betrayed her initial mental preamble as a sheer diversion from what she was really feeling. Blowing out a long breath of carcinogenic smoke into the air, she carefully laid down her thoughts for her to see like a sequence of cards, played from off the top of the pack. She knew that Jo was struggling to hold her head up during the trial but she doubted her own ability to give the emotional sustenance that Jo needed. Well, she answered herself defiantly, she was just going to have to jolly well try despite her misgivings.

In that state of heightened nervousness, she rushed round the house to give it a quick tidy up, put on her coat, grabbed her keys and, as an unaccountable afterthought, flipped a CD from her rack and left it carelessly on the coffee table. She called out to Kay and was gone in a rush of cold air behind her.

"George." Jo called out, "It's good to see you. It's better than staring at these four walls." The other woman put her arms round her, drew her to herself and kissed her. George could not detect any whisky on her breath and reproached herself for the thought. She would not exactly be overwelcoming to any visitor who cast an eye upon her figure and then her fridge only from the point of view of gauging her non-eating habits. "I'm not disturbing you in the middle of preparing for the trial, Jo?" George asked solicitously.  
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be for the next day so I can give way to temptation." Jo replied with a twinkle in her eye.  
"Meaning"  
"That I can have a quiet drink or two with someone who is close to me." Jo replied, stretching herself luxuriously. Immediately, warning bells were set off in George's jangled thoughts.  
"You had better leave me out from part of what you've got in mind." "It's not like you to plead the course of virtuous restraint, George Channing." Jo teased in her bantering tone of voice.  
"More like the course of practicality." Came George's terse reply. "I've got to be home tonight so I can be ready for the trial. This means that I am really not prepared to chance myself being hauled up in a local magistrates court, lose my driving licence for two years and pay a fearful fine and all for one night's indulgence. If I indulge my pleasures, I will at least ensure that I have something memorably enjoyable to look back on the next day." 

The look that Jo shot at George was one of pure wounded hurt emotion at the judgmental harshness in George's tone of voice. She knew that George knew her urge to that recourse to the one surefire cure easily to hand to instill fuzzy feelings of good feelings inside her. In driving away that overwhelming depression, it worked every time for that evening . George was acting as that pitiless wake up call to reality. What made it worse for George was that , behind her firm exterior, was that she would be a fine one to judge when she was performing her own retreat from reality except that, she was sincerely trying to help Jo.  
"Look, Jo." She continued gently with a slight smile on the corners of her lips, "I'm as tired as you but I just wanted a quiet evening in with you on the settee"  
George felt hugely relieved, as a light seemed to be turned on in Jo's face as she was faced with an alternative attraction. As Jo clicked off the overhead lights, she allowed George to lead her by the hand and settled down on a two-seater settee. It was made for such intimacy as George nestled her head against Jo's neck. They both knew that it meant nothing heavy, just two friends seeing each other through a mutually draining experience of the trial with just that bit of sexual spicing. They could afford to let the time go for just that blessed period of time.

"We're nearly through the trial."Jo sleepily remarked half an hour later into George slightly ruffled blond hair. "We've made most of the running so far"  
"We're not out of the wood yet, darling." Drawled that forward looking other voice against her breasts. "but so far, we're winning. Brian really was very foolish to think that he could get the better of the two of us"  
Jo laughed lightly into the intimacy of the dim lighting at George's humour. It had been a long time that there was anything worth laughing about.

Kay recalled feeling that now she had been on the stand and seen the way as to how George could get the overdue medical attention she needed, she could afford to have a nice restful night in. George flitted backwards and forwards in a nervous way in getting ready to see Jo so that Kay tactfully stayed out of the way. "See you sometime." George called out from the other side of the open front door before it was shut. Kay went to answer but gave it up as somewhat redundant. When Lucy had stayed with her, she had acted in a similar manner. Although she was several decades George's junior, the similarities were more than she would have expected. Kay had supposed that the archetypal aristocratic English accent guarantee perfect confidence and self assurance but now she wasn't that sure. Kay entered what to her was the most comfortable room in the house as central to it was the open coal fire casting an attractive glow in the room while all was cold and dark outside. The coal embers were dying down and only simmering red glow lined the spaces in between the burnt out charcoal. It came second nature to her to reach out for a chopped up piece of log and to lay it sideways across the fire. In no time, yellow flames crackled up around the wood and the fire sprang to life. She could feel the heat on her face and that glowing feeling of being sheltered from the wind and the rain. It was a primitive ritual that gave her good feelings inside, no matter how modern or computerized the world was that she lived in. It was a little later that her attention was taken away by the CD left out as if casually on the coffee table. It was the only object on display and she would have thought that George's tidy ways would have put it together with her neatly arranged collection. Immediately, she scratched out that last thought. George really wanted her to hear the CD but couldn't say outright. Smiling to herself, she detached the paper from the CD box and closely examined it. On the front, was a posed photograph of four immaculately dressed men and one woman not dissimilar to a high school group shot. She could instantly recognise John, Monty, and, George in the centre and occupying pride of place with a wide smile on her glowing face. The very proud man standing next to her must be Joe Channing She turned back to the lengthy credits for the members of the orchestra and the images of the human beings crawled out from their neatly typed names and assumed the human dimensions of the real life players whom she had observed in court. At the bottom of the page was inscribed the following dedication to which the passing time had lent the most supreme irony.  
"…….we must give special credits to the unfailing kindness of Reverend Henry Mills and his wife, Barbara, without whose hospitality and the use of Chipping Ongar church for the performance and the church hall for the rehearsals, this performance would not have been possible"  
She tried not to think of that too much as it surely wouldn't help her out right now. She poured herself a glass of white wine, which she sipped from and laid it on the coffee table. She put on the CD with a deliberate motion and sat back in the easy chair next to the roaring fire to compose her spirits for her best attention to the music. The opening orchestral chord immediately grabbed her attention and served notice on her that here were no bunch of amateurs as were thought of in the worse sense of the word. She was struck in the instrumental prelude of the figure of the endlessly climbing staircase which had always fascinated her and which was executed to precision. She was equally surprised when the monumental blast of orchestral sound measured the instant that the world stepped into the light.

It was when George took her first solo, that the whole performance became personal to her. That utter self-confident precision of tone amazed her, took her into another dimension and made it look misleadingly easy as her voice danced effortlessly up and down the scales. The sheer purity of sound and spirit amazed her as there was nothing about this highly professional barrister to suggest that she had another potential calling. To Kay, you had a profession that you either performed to the utmost of your ability or else you were just a sloppy cheap chiseller, content to take your salary from Virginia State and to hell with the consequences. It had never entered her head that you could pursue your career and also be attractively haunted by the ghost of a second calling, which might have been an alternate reality. She did not claim to be a music professor but surely this performance was played to perfection. The thought gradually dawned on her that had she been drawn into the world of playing an instrument rather than being merely an interested listener, she could have trod this path. Impossible, she answered herself. There simply weren't enough hours in the day for her to include any hobby and do her job. No, she countered herself, but these guys had.

The flourishes of violins were surely led by John, either as the calm river of sound drifted softly along or were at the cutting edges of the crescendos of chorus and lead singers. She could so easily imagine Jo, Karen and Roisin lending their tones to that massed bank of strings but less so to imagine that so did Brian Cantwell. It wasn't until she heard the first recitative that she heard the deep voice of Neil Grayling being backed by the cellos and the sharp tone of the harpsichord played by none other than Barbara, the woman who was now in the dock. That thought brought her up short as something she realized that she would have to face. It was highly likely that when this CD was produced, Barbara was a free woman and able to enjoy the fruits of her hard work. It also drove home the thought how hard it might be for those involved in the present trial to act normally and treat her as just another case.

Kay was enthralled as her senses let the music flow around her. She heard the instruments talking to each other as well as her, the privileged audience and also a mute George who had just let herself silently in and was transfixed by what she had heard. Since the performance, she had refused steadfastly to play the CD, which had been given to her by Grayling. By contrast, the production of this CD had driven her overjoyed father to master the modern technicalities of a CD player and both the memory of the event and its constant electronic replay had given him vim and vigour beyond his years. In George's case, she had been swallowed up by the day-to-day work, which had swept her far away from that moment in time. George couldn't believe what she was hearing, especially to hear her own voice. She had to admit that if she had been to watch such a performance, she would not feel as if she had been shortchanged. Her musical education enabled her to make that considered judgment that the ensemble was performing at the very top of their not inconsiderable talents. But that was her singing, she remembered, and she sounded really happy and in love with life itself, she reflected ruefully.

Kay was swept up in the performance as it unreeled itself into that celebration of love, in the insistent interflowing lines which cut between Adam and Eve. George listened incredulous that the woman she had been had sung with such heartfelt feeling.

"With thee, with thee, is every joy enhanced. With thee, with thee, is life incessant bliss." "If only it were" came George's secondary speaking voice speaking dully over the pure pitch of her singing voice. Kay laid her finger to her lips and that and the warm smile on Kay's face bade her to continue to listen right up until the end. The ensemble of the orchestra, chorus and soloists propelled the performance to the finale to the accompaniment of that authoritative baton and the sheer joy and spirit warmed George to believe once again that, yes, there was another side of her that she could not deny. Exactly what she might actually acknowledge was another matter as that measure of self-belief meant a faith in a future.

"Have you had a good evening out?" Kay asked casually.  
"I've been seeing Jo and talking trial tactics," George answered conversationally before her words rang a little hollow."In fact you might say that I've been seeing to Jo as I've been worried about her. I think she'll be right…for now"  
Something about the finality of George's tone told Kay not to pursue the matter further. If it helped George to talk, she would but this was not the right time. Instead, she talked about what was most uppermost in her mind.  
"That performance was utterly incredible, George. That was a real meal for the senses. You should"  
"Don't tell me, we should go professional, Kay. You do not know what argumentative prima donnas there were amongst the orchestra, well some of us"  
Beneath George's self deprecating manner lay feelings of tenderness, which she finally softened up at the end to admit to. There were feeling of positivity and high energy that ran through that period despite the likes of Sir Ian and Lawrence James. She really had done a lot. What got to her was that if she were asked to do a repeat performance, she doubted if she would sustain that energy. From Kay's perspective, George was simply battling with her sense of pride in the performance. "You're joking, George. If I suggested to some of those I work with, hey why don't we form a band, I'd get some strange looks"  
Her mind drifted affectionately across the Atlantic to Marino who, as a devoted Elvis fan, would go as far as running an expedition to visit Graceland but would run a mile away from the idea of playing in a rock and roll band. She grinned when she tried to picture the expression on his face and his choicest scornful expression he would use to disguise his fear.  
"You looked so happy in the photograph. You have got a very special talent, George. Don't ever knock it. The same goes to everyone in the orchestra, even that bastard Brian Cantwell"  
'That's all very well if I had a future in it." George answered with dread finality. Despite the warmth thrown out by the supply of logs Kay had thrown on the fire, she suddenly felt chilled to the bone. 


	99. Chapter 99

Part Ninety-Nine

Nikki was at work bright and early, too early to entirely convince herself that she was calm and relaxed. She would have been happy to settle for feeling keyed up but knew that she felt more than this. She was distinctly nervous. To distract her thoughts, she pulled a sheaf of filed from her in tray onto her desk but her heart wasn't in the job. She felt that she was simply shuffling papers round her desk and getting nowhere fast.

"Might I come in, Nikki and kill a bit of time here before I go into the lion's den?" came Thomas Waugh's voice unexpectedly into her thoughts as he paced into the room without knocking. Nikki ran a quick eyes over him and instantly concluded that his attempt at nonchalance was his front to conceal stage fright as was his uncharacteristically abrupt intrusion.  
"Be my guest, Thomas." Came her courteous reply."Cup of coffee"  
"No thanks, Nikki. Tea, definitely tea if you have it"  
That meant he wasn't wanting to take anything that might make him more hyper than he was while the English cup of tea was the great pre twenty first century tranquilliser. She went to make two cups of tea to keep her hands occupied and set them down on her desk.  
"I'm sure you'll be confident enough going up on the stand from all the conferences you've addressed over the years"  
"Don't you believe it, Nikki." Thomas replied as if jokingly to Nikki's warm words of encouragement." I'm good enough to make stirring speeches as you don't get anyone disagreeing with you afterwards. You know that as you've done that once. I testified in court once before and I came a cropper"  
"So what went wrong"  
"I got it wrong"  
"And this time"  
"I'm right or at least I think I am"  
There was a long pause as Nikki sipped her tea. Thomas really wasn't that confident, of himself, of how he was going to get on. She paused before she found the words to say. "Look here Thomas. I was watching from the gallery that day and your only problem was that you were a little overconfident, the barrister on your side really wasn't very good and you were up against Jo Mills. She's on your side this time. You've just got to stick to the facts and don't let them throw you. I'd like to give you support from the witness gallery but I won't be allowed to as I'm on this afternoon"  
"Thanks, Nikki. I needed someone to talk some sense into me. It's funny because that's what I'm paid to. Well, you'll get on better than I will when you get up on the stand"  
"You want to bet? I'm beginning to feel that their brief will be out to smear me for all he's worth"  
"Now who's talking, Nikki? You're verbally quicker than I am and you're strong. You've had to be to get to where you are. You've mixed with the legal profession and you know what makes them tick." "You think so"  
"Let's do a deal. If you're strong for Barbara, then so will I"  
It looked as if someone had switched on the light of confidence inside Nikki as Thomas reasoned with her. It was funny, both of them reflected in mirror image, that it was far easier to prop up someone else's confidence than your own. The phrase 'physician, heal thyself' floated into Thomas's mind. He extended his hand and shook Nikki's in a firm grip as if to transfer the strength back and forth between them. Then he straightened his his crooked tie and strode forwards to meet his destiny. Nikki was a little envious as at least Thomas had the chance to go into battle rather than sit around stewing.

In his nervousness, Thomas had got there early. He was ushered into a waiting room and mentally ran through the key points to crystallize his thinking. He felt uncomfortably naked without any papers to hold in his hand. Whenever he had performed before at public events a written speech was not only his tool of the trade by a convenient psychological prop. He ruefully reflected on the fact that this insight into himself really wasn't too well timed. The knock on the door from the court usher jolted his nerves but he summoned up his inner resolve and followed her into the courtroom. The whole theatre setting of the courtroom made him blink as he made his way towards the witness box. This time around, he knew how dangerous an arena this could be. He cast a glance at the opposition barrister as the one to watch out for. Jo stood up and smiled kindly at him while George sat back, extending a nonchalant hand over the long bench. To his mind, both of them looked assured, experienced and thoroughly at home in their world while he felt like a fish out of water.  
"Could you explain for the benefit of the court, your position, previous experience and your role in relation to the accused"  
"Barbara Mills?" Thomas asked, momentarily finding it hard to hear her described that way while a flicker of amusement ran round the court."I have been senior medical officer at Larkhall Prison for the last four and a half years. Before that, I had been a practicing psychologist with a basic grounding as a general practitioner. It enables me to span the entire spectrum of physical and mental illnesses , something that is essential in a women's prison"  
"And your connection with the accused?" "As requested by you to undertake a psychological profile. It also coincided nicely with concerns expressed by Nikki Wade G wing governor about her state of health. I have learnt from her formal referrals to treat them especially seriously"  
Jo smiled broadly at the way Thomas neatly prepared the ground for her next witness and paused a little for maximum effect before continuing. "What was your initial impression of Barbara Mills?" "She was a very pleasant courteous woman of the old school who was clearly been carrying the very heavy burden of her bereavement for several months despite her best efforts to minimise it." Jo was impressed by the clear snapshot mental image which enabled her to pursue the questioning in a leisurely but systematic fashion. "What did she tell you of her feelings for her husband, both while he was alive, and after his death"  
"It was patently clear how much she loved him and how she would go to the ends of her own physical and mental endurance to will him to live. As his illness progressed, she became more worried and anxious for him, fearing that they were fighting a losing battle. She hadn't the chance to mourn on her own as she was immediately arrested, something she felt to be a cruel trick of fate." "How did you assess her state of mind when you interviewed her"  
"She has been grateful for the close support from other prisoners and sensitive treatment from prison officers. Nevertheless, it was plain that she was missing him with every day that passed, that she felt incomplete without him. Even when she had friends around her, she felt lonely. At other times, she has hidden herself away, unable to face the world. She felt that it was particularly unfair to be charged with being somehow responsible for the worst tragedy of her life. She has considerable resilience of spirit but she has been continually worried by the run up to the court trial and all this has tried her to the utmost." "How much emotional support was she receiving during Henry's illness"  
"By force of circumstances, very little. She had no immediate family and Henry's family kept themselves aloof even when he was dying. Her life was very much intertwined with Henry's. She has close friends who she knew had busy lives of their own and she felt it a weakness and an imposition to ask for support from them. All the time, she was doing the caring rather than being cared for." "How much importance did Barbara place on her religion whilst talking to you"  
"On the surface, she does not talk about her religion and appears to carry it lightly. She is hardly a 'born again evangeliser' but this is because she was born into the church in the first place. It is a source of her strength, something to guide her when she doubts her own ability to decide. More importantly, she sees herself as being required to stand completely and transparently before God and strive to live up to very high standards of thought and deed. She receives sustenance from her religion and seeks to give back in equal measure from the way she lives her life."

It was at that moment that Barbara, who was standing in the dock, permitted a faint smile of appreciation at Thomas's clearly articulated words. He had understood more of her than she had supposed at the time. Monty and John were sitting back impassively in their thrones but the last thing they felt was that they were placed in judgement over her, only immense pity. There but for the Grace of God went John Deed and Monty Everard. A stray thought crossed George's mind of when she was small and that her mother had been unexpectedly taken away from her and no one explained anything to her. She pushed it out of the way.

"During her interview with you, did Barbara express any alteration of her state of mind, during the last few days of Henry's illness"  
"Only that she became more worn out, more dispirited but as firm in her resolve to stick at it in terms of looking after a man who grew weaker every day." "Did Barbara ever show any sign of guilt whilst in your presence"  
"If you mean, did she betray any sign that she might have been responsible for Henry's death, not a trace whatsoever. If you mean, did she show any feelings of guilt that she could have prevented Henry's death, she showed signs in some considerable measure. If only she hadn't gone downstairs as she did, if only she had left the syringe further away from where she was used to leaving it, she would have ensured that Henry would not have died when he did. The fact that Henry was on his last legs was a thought that she might have tried to reassure herself but she didn't." "Would you consider Barbara to be capable of ending her husband's life? "Absolutely not." Thomas declared emphatically."In my four and a half years I have worked at Larkhall, I have dealt with many more killers than the average GP would see in a lifetime and I can state with confidence that Mrs Mills does not fit the profile in any shape whatsoever. Everything about her rings true and hangs together"  
George sat back and nodded in approval at the way that the witness had artfully deployed his knowledge in simple terms that any member of a jury would immediately grasp.  
'I have no more questions." Jo rounded out, pleased at how the evidence had been depicted with rapid, sure strokes pen for all to see. She sat down and wondered how Brian Cantwell might attack the testimony.

Thomas watched the very self satisfied man slowly draw himself to his feet with a smile on his face while Jo faded away to the role of sympathetic yet helpless onlooker.  
"Would it be true to say that your career could be best summed up by the expression 'Jack of all trades and master of none?' or put another way that you have dabbled in various disconnected branches of studies without pushing any of them to any level of expertise?" Thomas took fire at once and the words flooded into his mind as fast as he could deliver them.  
"On the contrary, I work in a crowded prison with more than life's share of physical and mental problems. It means that the demands of a modern women's prison means that you are stretched to the limit. From my medical expertise, physical and mental ill health are more intimately linked than the layman would suppose and I have the positive advantage in this dual training to follow both callings and to investigate the connections."

A sudden hush descended upon the court and hung in the air for what seemed an eternity while Brian Cantwell took the blow without flinching. George admired the style with which Thomas turned the stroke back on Brian Cantwell with a lightning fast parry. Beneath Yvonne's impassive exterior, she had to hand it to the guy that he had more balls than she had thought while Karen and Roisin were equally impressed. 

"Do you wish to pursue the matter, Mr Cantwell?" John's flat dry voice probed. There was a wry half smile on Brian Cantwell's face as he shrugged his shoulders.  
"Seeing as any further questions are likely to be unproductive, I have none"  
Thomas blinked in surprise as he fully expected to be locked into a battle royal with all guns blazing on both sides. It dawned on him that his testimony was complete and he could escape. "You may step down, Mr Waugh. Court is adjourned till this afternoon."

"So how did you get on, Thomas." Nikki asked nervously. She knew the basics already judging from the light in his eyes and his expansive demeanour. "Jo was great and I did my best for Barbara. I don't think I could have done better for her." he added vaguely, his memory rerunning the sequence of events.  
"And the opposition"  
"I beat the living daylights out of him. No quarter given." Thomas declaimed in operatic tones."He won't dare to give you a hard time"  
Oh great, Thomas, Nikki groaned inwardly. You're supposed to be the psychologist but you can't see that he will be landing all the shit on me in revenge. Typical man. You may feel great but I don't.  
"That's fine, Thomas. I'm glad you did well." She said graciously with a wan smile, the implications of which totally escaped him.  
"There's Helen and all the others. We'll be up in the gallery and cheering you on in our thoughts. Don't worry, you'll do fine." Thomas said encouragingly. If only she felt that sure. She could see Helen approaching, arms oustretched ready to give her a big hug. She needed that physical support from her more than ever in her life. 


	100. Chapter 100

Part One Hundred 

Nikki let herself be folded into Helen's arms. She needed that physical presence next to her, willing her to be strong and bold with all the fierce affection in Helen's soul. Karen Roisin, Yvonne, Clare Walker, Grayling and Thomas formed a protective ring round her, while surreptitiously keeping a lookout. When they drew back from each other, one glance told Helen how tense Nikki was. "Perhaps you ought to come with me to somewhere quiet"  
"But I ought to do a last minute preparation before I go on the stand." Protested Nikki till Karen cut her short.  
"If Neil doesn't pull rank on you to tell you to do as Helen says, I will." Karen cut in firmly before continuing on a gentler note. "I know you, Nikki. You'll have got everything up there in your mind. You need to relax more than anything else right now. Believe me, I've been there"  
"Listen to what the boss says, Nikki." Added Yvonne.

Nikki nodded her head. Blind instinct told her to learn from Karen's past experiences of court percolated into her consciousness. Helen drew Nikki by the hand and they disappeared into a side room, while the others stood around feeling like spare parts, shuffling their feet. It was only five minutes but it seemed an aeon since the door was closed. Karen looked at her watch, as the minutes ticked dangerously close to when court would open. Nikki was in danger of cutting it fine.

Nikki could remember hardly anything of what Helen had actually said to her. All she knew was that her mind had been opened up to the bigger picture. It hadn't seemed that way at the time but she had felt pretty relaxed at the Lauren Atkins trial in comparison with now. True, she had identified fiercely with the fate of Lauren who was trapped and penned up in the dock but that was no more than she should expect of herself. Now she realized that however passionate she felt, she had been distanced by the fact that it wasn't her on trial. This time was different and it explained everything. It was no wonder that feelings of blind panic had been building up in her from first thing in the morning, in a relentless upward spiral, as she drew ever closer to the Old Bailey. It explained why very uncharacteristically, she had been losing her nerve. For all her epoch making trials, she had never been cross-examined on the stand. The first time around, her counsel had deliberately kept her off the stand in case she would mouth off. When she went up for her appeal and got her freedom, she stood mutely in the dock, while the duel was fought all around her. Her record was wiped clean , thanks to Clare Walker fighting her case through the criminal cases review commission and the home office. It almost felt as if she were finally up on trial to make up for the years and circumstances that had kept her out of the witness stand. It was a perfectly natural, logical emotional reaction. That clearly articulated Scottish accent calmed her down and let her think over that internal hubbub.

"You're Nikki Wade, wing governor, with a university degree under your belt and a witness for the defence. With all this going for you, you'll stand up to them. You're not on trial, yourself. You're a professional and just for once in your life, you are permitted to carry that title, that assurance of your self-worth, a little less lightly than you normally do." She remembered Helen finally urging her. Helen had got that spot on. She did exercise her authority at work, in an almost self-deprecating fashion when she thought about it. 

At last the door opened and to everyone's intense relief, a markedly more positive Nikki emerged, her eyes looking out for the entrance to the courtroom.

"You're right, Karen. I did need that." Was her cryptic comment.  
"You're ready for the trial"  
"As ready as I'll ever be." "Then go get them." added Yvonne. Roisin and Clare gave Nikki a quick hug, as pale faced but determined, she made her way to the back entrance to the court. "Best of luck." Mouthed Grayling to Nikki with an encouraging, almost fatherly grin, while Thomas gave her the thumbs up gesture. They filed up into the visitor's gallery on the front row, and ignored the bad vibrations emanating from Greg and Amanda Hunt who had been haunting the Old Bailey since day one of the trial.

With the utmost display of outward composure, Nikki filed into the dock, and held the Bible in her left hand and the card with her right , and looked up boldly at John in his place up on high, and then her eyes focused in on Jo Mills and the rest of the court blurred at the edges of her vision. Jo wasn't fooled by Nikki's outward show, and articulated her first words in a deliberately slow paced fashion , to gently ease her into her new role.

"Can you explain, for the benefit of the court how you came to know Barbara Mills?" Nikki paused before she spoke. The question wasn't as simple as it appeared to be. She was by no means sure if the court had been told about Barbara's previous spell in prison, and she really didn't want to accidentally drop her in it. Some instinct selected the right order of the words to be used with great care.  
"I first knew her when I was an inmate at Larkhall, and became friends with her." Nikki replied briefly. "What is your current position in Larkhall prison?" "I am the wing governor of G Wing, one of the eight wings of Larkhall prison. I have overall responsibility for the welfare of prison officers and prisoners alike"  
It struck John that Nikki used the word 'responsibility' instead of power. That thought fascinated him , as it told him a lot about her.  
"In your position as wing governor, how have you found Barbara's general behaviour?" "She has always been very pleasant and cooperative, and particularly receptive to the necessary good order and discipline of an institution, when there is a clear reason for it. She has strong convictions in her quiet way of what is right and wrong and these are immensely respected. The only concerns I have had for her are that she has been depressed following her husband's untimely death, and I am very anxious for her future. More worryingly, she will publicly understate her problems to others in conversation, so that I have asked both prisoners and officers alike to keep an eye on her and be there for her"  
George had closely watched Nikki's manner while Jo started the questions, and could see her gaining confidence and her body language becoming less constrained. She had watched the testimony unfold in a very promising fashion and had confirmed the very high opinion she had come to have of Nikki She stood up in a leisurely manner and posed the next questions, fixing Nikki's eyes with hers. George felt safe to take over the questioning. "How do you usually think of Barbara, as an inmate or as a friend?" "Quite simply, both." "During your own period in prison, how much did Barbara's friendship mean to you?" "When I first entered Larkhall as an inmate, I got to know what friendship was like because of the lack of it. It was riddled from top to bottom by favouritism, the 'old boys network,' of one prisoner who inflicted cruelties on other prisoners and got protection by a corrupt officer by selling her sexual favours. By contrast, I was made to feel the outsider with no rights of my own"  
"Is all this strictly necessary?" Brian Cantwell enquired in an exaggeratedly bored tone of voice.  
"I'm just putting it in context." Shot back Nikki a split second before George could make the very same point.  
"It is usual for counsel to make representations for you on points of law." John intervened, his dry tone of voice belied by the twinkle in his eye as he continued to deliver judgment.  
"I suppose that neither Mrs. Channing nor Mrs. Mills have anything to add ….. So please continue with your evidence"  
"Sorry, sir." Nikki said in a low respectful tone while Jo and George grinned at each other, having given the nod to John that no other words were needed. Brian Cantwell's face tightened and he mentally vowed to himself that he would exact payback when his chance came. "Round about the same time as the prison regime started to change for the better, Barbara came along. After I'd straightened her out about the lies that a particularly malicious prison officer had spread about my sexuality, we saw the positives in each other, and looked to each other for friendship and intelligent conversation. She had strong principles and I could confide in her with any problems, and the same applied to her. Prisons can be dangerous places you know, and you get to value feeling safe with others more than anyone on the outside could ever imagine." It fascinated Helen to see the way that Nikki spoke in different voices, firstly as the responsible prison officer and next through the eyes of the inmate. No one but Nikki could have convincingly held this all together. "What qualities do you possess, that give you a greater depth of insight and understanding into the lives of prisoners, and Barbara Mills in particular?" Jo interposed, her questioning meshing seamlessly with George's. "I've seen the prison service from right up close, and got to know from it what fair treatment and its opposite mean, as a living breathing thing rather than something to read in a book. I shared a cell with Barbara. You're in each other's pockets twenty-four seven, that is more than prison officers see you. I know also that even the most well meaning policies can be subverted by prison officers on the ground who have the run of the place, who commit their petty injustices behind closed doors and can lie about them afterwards. When I became wing governor I knew what to look out for and I can put a stop to it"  
Helen and Karen both nodded grimly to themselves at that profound truth which they had found out the hard way. "But what of your own particular qualities"  
"In my job, I have to learn to separate out the honest ones from those who try to pull the wool over my eyes. To do that I have to work out what makes people tick. On top of that, I've knocked around in a variety of jobs before I came here and that does help"  
Monty nodded approvingly at the contrast of Nikki's self-effacing modesty, and her spirited defence of Barbara. "Do you find that you ever feel a conflict of loyalties where Barbara is concerned?" "Good point. I do have to periodically question what I should do, what I should say." "How do you resolve this?" "I have tried not to wear my rank on my sleeve, as if any orders that I give come naturally from me, Nikki Wade human being rather than the woman wearing the suit. From day one I have made it plain that I will be absolutely fair with everyone, and everyone gets treated alike. Barbara knows that as much as anyone. I won't be too proud to seek advice from those in authority over me, whose wisdom and experience I trust, and also those close to the situation who I can trust. Somehow I have learned to walk the high wire without falling off it"  
"What can you tell the court of Barbara Mills' character, both as a prisoner and as a friend?" Jo slid in the question with effortless ease. "Barbara is a naturally law abiding citizen whose life was devoted to Henry. You don't see many couples who so obviously belong to each other, whose lives were so wrapped up with each other. I know for a fact that she would not harm a hair of Henry's head, and is utterly incapable of self-deception, that she was somehow 'doing the right thing' in shortening Henry's life, not even if it meant an end to his sufferings. There are no fuzzy edges to Barbara's sense of morals, no compromises. I cannot picture in all my varied experiences of her, deliberately setting out to induce an overdose in Henry to cut short his life. I feel this with both my head and my heart."

Jo paused to let the force of Nikki's passionately, and simply expressed views wash over the jury who were clearly favourably impressed. She had set up the question and Nikki had backed her up a treat. As she marvelled at the clarity of expression, George posed their last question.  
" Whilst Henry Mills was in the last stages of his illness, did you have any direct concerns about Barbara, and if so, what were they?" "I didn't see as much of her as I would have liked. I bitterly regret that. Even from what I saw, I worried about how much weight even Barbara could carry, that she would wear herself into the ground, both physically and mentally. My last concern was that Barbara would end up in a court of law being charged with his murder. That was totally outside my calculations."

There was a brief pause in the proceedings. Nikki had gradually felt more comfortable as the carefully paced questions were put to her, but now she knew she would face the full force of the opposition. Brian Cantwell jumped to his feet as if he couldn't wait to be turned loose on her. 

"So Ms Wade, you have not been exactly coy, to say the least about your previous spell at Larkhall….as an inmate"  
"In that a question or an interjection?" Nikki immediately shot back at him. He had made the fatal mistake of trying to demean Nikki publicly, and it had had the reverse effect of firing her up. While John concealed a smile behind his hand, Karen nudged Helen in the ribs as she suppressed a burst of laughter that was fighting to get out. Brian Cantwell was less amused and shifted his point of attack. "Do you not consider that your previous spell as an inmate, detracts from your not very lengthy experience as a wing governor"  
"Not in the least. My spell at Larkhall was as a result of a very unsafe conviction and a trial, which was very prejudiced against me. So much so that I was able to secure my freedom as a result of the first appeal and the second appeal wiped my record as clean as I assume yours will be. Why, as a one time self employed club owner, my tax returns were as scrupulously completed as I am sure yours are, Mr. Cantwell." Nikki said with that expression of bright innocence which made Yvonne suppress a chuckle and Jo and George grin broadly.  
"We need not prolong the court's time with your testimonial." Brian Cantwell said hurriedly.  
"If I might continue briefly. Being a prisoner meant that I spent a lot of time-sharing a very cramped cell and life in a closed institution, in much the same way that a public school operates. Unless a conscious effort is made, the prison officer or teacher has not that sense of closeness"  
"An excellent and thought provoking comparison Miss Wade." Monty interposed, clearly impressed with Nikki's clear comparison. George and Jo mentally congratulated Nikki for her facility and fluency in pursuing a point, just short of the point where she might have been cut short for offering unsolicited observations.

"Let me put it another way, Ms Wade, don't you find it a problem to be a friend of the accused, to be Wing Governor and her jailor, and to be an objective witness as to her character?" Brian Cantwell demanded spitefully.  
"There is a difference between friendships an cronyism, Mr. Cantwell. Honest friendships will cross boundaries of conflicting interests, being true to all sides and utterly professional. Cronyism means selling your soul and your integrity on the basis of 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours'  
John laughed heartily at the way Nikki so deftly swept aside Brian Cantwell's gambit and turned it against not just him, but the entire forces of the establishment.  
'I fail to see how you find this impertinent reply either relevant or fitting, my lord"  
"Don't you now? On the contrary, I find Ms Wade's reply highly pertinent to the trial and much more besides."

"Does it not strike you as significant, that both you and your esteemed friend will have been tried for precisely the same crime?" Brian Cantwell pursued with heavy sarcasm.  
"I am surprised that you make any comparison, sir. The charge against me was of murder. It was overturned on the grounds of provocation and self-defence against the rapist who was a policeman, paid to track down crime, and not commit a crime himself. Barbara Mills is charged essentially of shortening the very painful and agonizing slow death of the one person who was dearest to her." "Do you not consider, that having killed a policeman, compromises you as a character witness?  
"If that policeman had acted as professionally as I expect my prison officers to behave, I would never have done time. The fact that he didn't, means that I saw another side of society I would never have otherwise experienced. I learned a lot of hard lessons from it which I have turned to my advantage"  
Brian Cantwell was needled at Nikki's calm effrontery and ability to face him out. Very rashly, he threw aside any sense of discretion. "You can hardly be considered normal, when you are a lesbian, and the one-time part owner of a gay club." There was a hush in the courtroom such that a pin drop could have been heard. Both Jo and George jumped to their feet and were about to lay into Brian Cantwell when John beat them to it. He was positively incandescent with rage. He knew that Cantwell was an utter reactionary but this beat all past records.  
"Don't you dare bring your small-minded prejudices into my courtroom, Mr. Cantwell. The question is both foolish and mendacious and shall be stricken from the record. You do your case no favours at all. You will do well not to even think of any such transgressions in a court of law that either Monty or I preside over. Needless to say, the question does not require an answer nor does it deserve one." "This is shoddy, damned shoddy." Monty exploded in indignation.  
"You weasel." George muttered under her breath while Jo kept quiet. She could not have trusted herself to speak and not got into trouble.

In the gallery, the front row was silent, thanks to Grayling taking command. "Keep quiet everyone." Grayling muttered through gritted teeth."Let the fool bury himself and let's keep out of the way." An intense feeling of panic ran through him at the thought of reining in five very strong-minded women and a senior medical officer who was not averse to fisticuffs. He turned round to glare at Amanda and Greg Hunt to shut them up. They were grinning from ear to ear and wondering why nobody had said such a self-evident truth before.  
Feelings of cold rage ran through Nikki. She hadn't expected that one and she clutched the rail of the witness stand. She could not speak. John looked down at her and saw what was going through her mind.  
"Do you want a couple of minutes before court continues, Ms Wade? You can take your time if you want." He urged in his gentlest tones.  
It was John's tone of voice that steadied her, the natural man who was so kind, so human inside the forbidding red robes of office. She shook her head.  
'I'm fine. Honestly."

Brian Cantwell cursed himself for overstepping the mark. He wasn't going to throw in the towel, but resolved to crowd his opponent in a more circumspect fashion.  
"What, in your vast experience of the perpetration of crime, makes you so sure that Barbara Mills is innocent"  
"Because I know her. Because I've seen enough criminals from both sides of the wire. It's down to experience, you know." "Don't you think that you could be biased in her favour"  
"I'm being paid and trusted by the prison service not to be biased. That is my job and my responsibility." "Can you give the court any reason why the jury should have confidence in your testimony?" "I am not a salesman, Mr. Cantwell. I do my best to tell the truth as I see it. I don't want to boast but I feel that I am well placed to give evidence of Barbara's character from my breadth of experience when I come to think of it"  
The front row of the visitor's gallery were riveted to their seats by the last final verbal exchanges, of Nikki's whip crack lightning quick responses to the Brian Cantwell's desperate attempts to break through her armour. Grayling was utterly delighted to see how superbly Nikki was performing, and he blessed himself that he'd seen sense and given Nikki her chance. As for the others, it brought back old memories.  
At the end of this last exchange, Brian Cantwell finally ran out of steam. He could not for the life of him think of anything to say that wouldn't go over old ground, and instinct told him that it would be the absolute kiss of death. He decided to cut his losses. "I have no further questions, my lord." "At this convenient point, court is closed for the day. We shall resume tomorrow for the closing speeches. Nikki Wade, you may step down"  
That very same feeling of bewilderment overwhelmed her as at her appeal hearing. She was so psyched up and centred on giving evidence that she could not conceive of anything afterwards. To Jo's and George's smiles of appreciation and Brian Cantwell's poker faced expression, Nikki tottered out of the witness stand and stumbled out of the back of the court. Only then did she notice Barbara's intense look of gratitude on her face. She couldn't believe it was all over.

She was bewildered by the very same rapturous greeting from the gallery that met her out of the courtroom. "Result."Exclaimed Clare Walker as she hugged her. Nikki looked at her dark suit and really did wonder exactly what time zone she was in, as both George and Jo shook her by the hand. This time, it was Helen who hugged her so she couldn't be back in the past. Karen beamed at her in admiration. It was the presence of Roisin and Grayling whose physical presence reminded her that she was back in the present and she smiled more freely.  
"You really screwed the bastard." Yvonne exclaimed while Thomas nodded in agreement at such a fair description.

"My congratulations on your performance. Of course you do realize that this is just a game. I might easily have been defending you and Jo Mills prosecuting you. At the end of the day, another trial is done and we all get paid a handsome fee." Brian Cantwell's hard tight tones greeted Nikki. "It's no game, believe me." Nikki replied hoarsely, the nervous reaction sweeping over her and invading her senses. She could barely talk." Depending on which way your 'game' goes, means whether someone goes free or I get another prisoner to look after. Of course, innocence or guilt has nothing to do with it, has it? Take me for example"  
Nikki's icy glare froze Brian Cantwell to the spot and made him feel momentarily uncomfortable. She stood there with no clue as to where she was going to go to next. 


	101. Chapter 101

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And One

As soon as court had adjourned, John asked Coope to summon Nikki Wade to his chambers. This was becoming a habit, he mused to himself as he waited for her, putting witnesses under the spotlight because they intrigued him, either professionally or sexually. Well, if Nikki Wade had interested him sexually, he wouldn't have got anywhere with her anyway, so he supposed that not having that issue at hand was probably a good thing. When Coope appeared and asked Nikki to accompany her to John's chambers, Yvonne quipped, "Make sure you keep your chastity belt on up there, won't you." Giving her a tired smile, Nikki said, "He wouldn't be able to work out the combination lock in a million years." "Do you want me to wait for you?" Helen asked. "Only I've got a patient to see at four-thirty." "No, you get off, I'll be fine," Nikki told her, wondering just why the judge wanted to see her. 

When Nikki appeared and was shown in by Coope, John rose from behind his desk and offered her an encouraging smile. "This isn't a slap on the wrist for the admirable way you treated Brian Cantwell, I promise." "I did wonder," Nikki replied with a smile of her own. "As I have been warned that your punishments for such indiscretions are legendary." John laughed, and then offered her a cup of tea. "Nothing would be more welcome," Nikki said as she sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs. Asking Coope to bring them some tea, John sat down opposite her. 

"So," Nikki asked when the tea had arrived. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "You are the third witness in this infamous trial to thoroughly intrigue me," John was forced to admit. "Like a book that requires further study, am I?" Nikki asked with a raised eyebrow. "That's one way of putting it, yes," John replied dryly. "Brian Cantwell, in his usual, utterly transparent fashion, did his absolute best in trying to break your cool, yet you managed to remain thoroughly restrained throughout, even when he was calling your past out of the woodwork for all to examine at their will." "My past hasn't and never will be behind any woodwork, Judge," Nikki said a little regretfully. "I've been explaining myself since the age of sixteen, and that part of my life will probably never stop. I can't say it wasn't something I didn't expect from him." "To the likes of Brian Cantwell, you are something of an anomaly that he will never come to understand. You have undoubtedly killed a man, yet you now work as a wing governor for the prison service, in the very prison in which you were incarcerated. Do you ever find that this provides you with professional conflict of interest?" "Sure," Nikki said without a flicker. "Almost every day, especially when it concerns someone like Barbara, or the Julies, or anyone who's still there from the time I was there as an inmate. I'm the first con to turn screw that they know of, so they try every trick in the book to get me to go easy on them. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, though I do prefer to look on it as doing things differently, rather than showing favouritism towards those I know personally. Some of the other officers, such as Sylvia Hollamby for instance, loathe the fact that I am in authority above them. They hate it because the tables have been turned so successfully." "How she ever made it into the prison service, I'll never know," John observed in disgust. "She's much worse when you're on the cons' side of the wire, believe me," Nikki told him. "Knowing that I do have the necessary standing to sack her, does tend to keep her mildly under control." John smiled broadly. "The legal profession lost out somewhere along the line," He told her seriously. "You would have made a formidable judge." "Thank you," Nikki said just as seriously. "But I suspect I would often have become far too involved with the cases before me." "Who says I don't?" John asked, knowing that he also did that very thing far too often. "You do," Nikki agreed with him. "But you still somehow manage to keep enough distance to give whoever is before you a fair trial. That takes some incredible force of will if nothing else." "Perhaps," John agreed, touched by her compliment. "But it doesn't mean that I always get it right." "Does seducing witnesses come into that category?" Nikki asked without any hint of censure in her voice. "Has news of my indiscretion reached you too?" John asked a little uncomfortably. "Most things that reach Helen via the unprofessional route usually reach me too," Nikki informed him. "But we're all capable of it from time to time. How did me and Helen start out if it wasn't the biggest indiscretion in the book?" "Would you ever do for Helen what you did for your previous partner?" Nikki met his eyes thoughtfully for what seemed an age while she thought about this. "I don't know," She answered eventually. "That's not a question I can answer without being faced with the situation necessary to require such a decision." "I'm sorry," John said, knowing that the question had sprung out of curiosity, and realising that it was entirely inappropriate. "I allowed my curiosity to outweigh human decency." "No, you didn't," Nikki told him kindly. "You asked me something that you've been wanting to ask ever since the day you were first introduced to me, back in the middle of Lauren Atkins' trial. I don't blame you for wanting to know if I could do it again, because you're a member of the sentencing brethren, someone who is by virtue of your standing, forced to hand out mandatory life sentences for murder. You can't help wanting to know what made me capable of doing something so horrific, and you wouldn't be the only one. I probably ask myself that question every time I remember what happened." "Do you ever come up with an answer?" John asked her quietly, heartily relieved that he hadn't offended her. "Sometimes I put it down to wanting to protect the woman I loved, sometimes I feel as though it was a different person who killed Gossard, but I'm not stupid enough to believe that it was. All I've ever been able to come up with, is that if you love somebody enough, you'll do anything for them, even if it puts you at the highest risk or in the greatest pain. You might have learnt that already, or it might be something you have yet to learn, I don't know. I'd been nine years with Trish when Gossard started coming into the club as often as possible, frightening away half our clientele." "Nine years was the length of time I was married to George," John said contemplatively. "Well, there you are then," Nikki said with half a smile. "You do at least know what it's like to spend that amount of time with someone, whether happy or unhappy. I just hope that there aren't too many policemen around like Gossard, though I don't hold my breath." 

"You don't have much faith in the establishment, do you," John said thoughtfully. "After seeing what some members of the legal profession are capable of, both through my own experiences and those of my inmates, do you blame me?" "Not in the slightest," John replied without any hesitation. "Far too many solicitors, barristers and judges can be leant on by just a nudge from the right sources, making justice a thing of fantasy. But if necessary when the time comes, I will try to give Barbara both fairness and decency, things that I believe are occasionally seriously lacking in a justice system that thinks it is perfect, just because it has long ago abandoned the death penalty. I can't claim to always do the right thing, but I do try." 


	102. Chapter 102

Part One Hundred and Two 

The tired bodies trooped into court, to take up their accustomed places and roles for one last time. George took the precaution to freshen herself up in the ladies, to look more perfect than she felt. She emerged to catch up with Jo, and was surprised to see her looking pretty alert. Either Jo has laid off the booze, she thought, or appearances could be deceptive.

"Well, George, I never thought that I'd ever get to the end of this trial a sane woman. I've you to thank for it"  
"Don't think of it, Jo." Came George's self deprecating reply. "Are you ready to give Cantwell one last going over"  
"It's that pleasure to come that's giving me the energy." Smirked Jo.

It dawned on both of them, that Barbara's destiny would be shortly taken out of their hands, and would lose the burden of responsibility, to make or mar. There would be only one final exchange,and twelve men and women of the jury would be left to decide her fate. By that point, they would have to wait helplessly on the sidelines. George didn't envy them, sifting through the sheer volume of evidence placed before them and the burden upon their shoulders. They saw Brian Cantwell ahead of them , oblivious to everything.

As it became near to the time when court would open, the hitherto deserted courtroom started to take life and shape as a living being. The ushers and court recorder assumed their rightful positions. Upstairs, the gallery became sparsely filled with only Greg and Amanda Hunt on the one side, and Yvonne and Roisin on the other. The two groups maintained the same chilly distance between each other, as when the trial first started.

"I can see why Babs went and clocked him one." Yvonne muttered out of the side of her mouth which made Roisin grin.  
"So long as you don't get the same idea, Yvonne. You can get into trouble for something like that." Came the whispered reply.

Up in the Gods, John and Monty paced out in their stately fashion, through the door to their chambers. They peered down through bleary eyes at the courtroom below, before the moment came to commence proceedings in the final act of the grand theatre of justice.

Brian Cantwell had the inward feeling that the game was up. He was only too aware that a succession of exchanges had been weighted against him. The defence witnesses had demonstrated that steel hard determination to hold their ground, against his most severe questioning, and that Jo and George had taken maximum advantage of the patently sincere testimony. He didn't want to think of that infernal battleaxe of a prison officer, whose stupidity had done its best to wreck his case, and he regretted that the defence had managed to pick holes in the evidence given by Connie Beauchamp. Nevertheless, he resolved to think of the bill that he would shortly receive, and he was determined to go out in style, as he delivered his closing speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have heard character witnesses give purported glowing testimonies as to the character of the accused, but is it not significant that not one of the accused immediate family has stepped forward to testify, someone who has known the accused from an early age and grown up with her. I am not asking you to draw any untoward conclusions, only that the character evidence may not as strong, as it might appear."

While Jo was scribbling notes, George sat back in wonder at Brian Cantwell and she almost felt sorry for him. Given the circumstances, he had done as good a job in trying to convince the jury as to the rightness of his case, but what about his own feelings upon the matter? It was interesting that this question came so easily and quite naturally to her. Except when she was the government's hired legal gun, she had pursued her career with the pick of lucrative civil cases where feelings never came into it. Her role had been to grease the legal wheels of financial accommodations between two parties. This was the first time that she had taken part in a criminal trial, where she was on the right side. She wouldn't want to give way to John's rhapsodies to justice ,but she had to admit that she felt pretty good about herself if it weren't for one matter.

"Now let us come to the charges in question. You will have heard an extraordinary array of well wishers giving evidence as to the psychology, the character of the witness and indeed Uncle Tom Cobley and all. What you have to ask yourself, what does it all add up to? It might be argued that the character of the accused is such, that you feel it is safe to put out of account the possibility that the accused did take the life of Henry Mills. I urge you, the jury, to take the measure of the deceased, someone whose firm strength and Christian convictions would have not lightly voluntarily let go his grip of life, even with the extremities of his sufferings. One of the most significant points drawn out from the accused herself was to hear her describe the deceased as a 'very strong man.' That is suggestive of a man who would not lightly voluntary surrender his grip of life. Now we come to medical evidence. Amongst the multitude of medical evidence, you should not overlook the testimony of Sam Ryan of a fresh injection mark on the deceased's right thigh, which had caused the overdose of morphine. She further testified that the deceased had not the physical strength to administer the injection himself, something that the accused had been accustomed to doing herself. It is the contention of the Crown that the accused may ,for the most well meaning motives, have conceived the idea of ending the deceased's life in the most merciful fashion possible. Whatever the motivation, the law considers that such an act is a crime as defined by the laws of the land and you must find the accused guilty as charged."

To their surprise, Yvonne and Roisin weren't greatly worried by Brian Cantwell's address. They had unconsciously absorbed the knack in being able to pick out what was really damaging in a case. In Yvonne's eyes, the guy was dealing off the pack with largely sixes and sevens of diamonds with only the occasional jack. He had a great line in bullshitting, and she might have been impressed with his manner at one time. They both knew that they needed to wait to see what Jo or George would come up with. Experience and superstition forbade them in thinking that they would walk it, but there was at least reason to hope.

John noticed with surprise that Brian Cantwell had spoken in such a low key fashion. He had expected endless verbal flourishes to make the most of a weak case but, no, he promptly sat down as if he had finally dealt himself out of the game. "Thank you Mr. Cantwell." He intoned and sat back in his throne for Jo to reply. 


	103. Chapter 103

Part One Hundred and Three

On Jo's bench lay the crumpled notes, much thumbed evidence folder, which comprised the fruits of her's and George's labours for the last two weeks, and every question asked over the past five months. Now she was done, and she focused her mind to make one last effort.

"You have heard a considerable volume of evidence but there are three basic questions that I ask you, the jury, to consider. First of all, was it possible for Barbara Mills to take her husband's life , secondly, was she capable of doing so and thirdly, did she do it? I am asking you, the jury, to consider the very valuable evidence of Dr. Kay Scarpetta, Chief Medical Officer of the State of Virginia, whose access to the finest medical analytical techniques have established that, regrettably, it was Henry Mills who took his own life. You may think that a strong minded man would cling resolutely to his own life. Instead, I ask you to consider that a man in the worst extremities of a painful and lingering terminal illness is in the most extreme situation imaginable. Such a person could have taken his life, even the strongest. It is very easy to commit a fallacy in considering the deceased, who my learned counsel man justly described as a very strong man as being strong, whatever the circumstances. You would draw false conclusions as to what he may or may not do. You must remember that months of painful decline can create such a state of desperation that is almost conceivable to imagine. Yet, I am asking you, the jury, to try and make that leap of the imagination."

Jo paused for a second and reached for the mug of water on her bench as, unaccountably, her voice had become hoarse. Entirely focusing her mind on Barbara's plight to the total exclusion of everything else, including herself, she plunged onwards down the leaping line of logic.

"Once you admit that possibility, then Henry Mills engaged that sheer desperation of will to use the last strength within him to reach for the pre prepared morphine syringe at his bedside and to take his own life. It explains why Mrs Mills, in making a cup of tea downstairs would be utterly unprepared for the danger of her leaving her husband's bedside. In the land of the healthy and the living, however tired out, she would, for the one time in her life, have been utterly unable to foresee the train of thought that had formed in her husband's head. The evidence offered by the consultant anaesthetist, Dr Zubin Khan is particularly important because he was closer in experience to the situation. This was because he had the responsibility for overseeing Mr Mills's pain relief. It is to be preferred to Ms Connie Beauchamp because, capable surgeon though she no doubt is, she was further away from the situation. The direction points in one way, and in one way only. Mrs Mills could not have taken her husband's life.

Finally, I must pay tribute to highly professional and insightful evidence offered by Nikki Wade, who has offered compelling evidence from a unique perspective of closeness. It reinforces and is reinforced by Dr Waugh's psychological assessment. It paints a clear picture of a devoted wife of extraordinary clear principles, who was simply not capable of the sort of self-deceit that my learned counsel implies.'Perhaps if I give him an overdose on the quiet, it will put him out of his misery.' That is, after all, what the case of my learned counsel amounts to."

Jo threw those words across the courtroom with a sweeping gesture of the hand and every ounce of scorn to dismiss utterly the central proposition of the prosecution. She let her words hang in the air before resuming in a quieter vein.

"When you put it as crudely as that, how grotesquely improbable it all sounds from all you have heard about the defendant, as opposed to the outpourings of prejudice and bigotry from Mrs Hollamby, whose capacity as a competent and caring prison officer I would seriously question. So in winding up, I urge you, the jury who hold the defendant's life in your hands to acquit her. She couldn't have done it, she wouldn't have done it and she didn't do it."

"Hear hear." George muttered under her breath, smiling reassuringly at Jo as she sat back in her bench exhausted. The final address had taken it out of her more than she had thought. Brian Cantwell kept his head lowered. He had done all that he had been paid to do, and could now view proceedings with a certain degree of detachment.

"It seems a convenient point to adjourn the court for lunchbreak to give all members the court, particularly the jury, a chance of a break. I advise everyone to be back sharp at two so that they will be here for the summing up." John intoned. 


	104. Chapter 104

Part One Hundred and Four

John turned quietly to Monty as they remained seated, while everyone else had filed out.  
"I would be infinitely grateful if we could have a chat, about what form the summing up should take. It would do both of us good"  
Monty took one look at John's face, and promptly decided to follow John's lead, wherever it might wander. As they strolled along the corridor, he started to turn matters over in his mind. He had been impressed by the steadiness that John had shown during the trial and his willingness to listen. "I am aware that for considerable parts of the trial, it might have appeared that you have been relegated to the sidelines." John commenced with a touch of awkwardness. "Believe me, this has not been my intention"  
"Nonsense, John. I have felt entirely comfortable throughout the course of the trial. The situation of you as judge and me as winger has worked out amicably enough and business has proceeded efficiently enough and that is the measure of its success. I know that there was a fracas in chambers over that damned woman's testimony but that was speedily resolved. If I had wanted to intervene because you had done anything seriously out of line, I would have told you, either in open court or afterwards. I confess that I was uneasy at the idea when you first suggested the idea in your usual damned persuasive fashion"  
John broke into a slight chuckle at the memory at his exercise in selling ice cream to Eskimoes. He needed some slight amusement.  
"…….but it has worked out better than I could have dreamed of"  
Emboldened by Monty's kind words, John broached a delicate matter.  
"I was going to ask you, Monty, if you would you have any problem if I did the summing up? There is the alternative that you do it and a second one that we share the duty and the responsibility"  
Monty picked up the hesitant tone in John's voice. This was not the manner of someone craftily angling for power and prestige but John being considerate, responsible and nervous. At one time Monty would never have conceived that John could or would behave in this fashion. "It is obvious what should happen. You must lead as you have done throughout the trial. I think we should talk about what you're going to say and I can have the opportunity to give advice. Quite frankly, I would very much hesitate in doing the summing up myself"  
John beamed at Monty's sturdy common sense and openness,which cut through a delicate matter of etiquette which had started to trouble him the previous night.  
"So, where do we start, Monty"  
"In one way, the facts of the case are simple. Only Barbara and Henry were present at the time of his unfortunate demise. In another way, it is devilishly complicated with no obvious crime and no obvious villain. I can't help but feel and think that there but for the grace of god goes Monty Everard. That makes it so easy for me to feel sorry for the poor woman if she was guilty and ashamed of myself if I ever misjudged her. If I feel this way, then what of the jury"  
"There is a lot of medical evidence." Gently urged John in a positive spirit.  
"Almost too much"  
"I agree with you. So, do we make available the entire transcript of the trial available for each member of the jury? Even a juryman with an exceptional memory would be hard put to retain such a volume of conflicting information"  
"That is fine so long as the daily transcripts are clearly titled and marked out into chapters of each day so that the jury aren't confronted by a mass of indigestible typescript. The jury must be given every assistance"  
"That is an excellent idea, Monty." John beamed. He calculated that a word to the clerk at the start of trial, and the wonders of modern computers would enable that to be done at short notice. This interchange of conversation did wonders in generating much more readily the necessary flow of ideas. Normally each judge was required to sweat it out in the dead quiet loneliness of the judge's chambers. "The trial does divide neatly between the medical evidence and non medical evidence. Which should the jury consider first?I am open to ideas." "The medical evidence should come first but we must advise them not to overlook anything they have seen and heard throughout the trial. The evidence of Thomas Waugh can be neatly tacked on to that"  
"And the character witnesses"  
"We must strongly advise the jury to utterly disregard the evidence of that infernal jack booted prison warder for a start"  
John smiled at Monty's heated description which so chimed in with his own views.  
"I should not quite use those precise words but I'll wrap them up in an acceptable package. So long as I do not appear to be biased in overpraising the merits of the last witness, Nikki Wade"  
"Hmmn," paused Monty for reflection."You cannot be criticized by even Sir Ian or Lawrence James for giving credit where credit is due"  
"Aaah, that is a very significant point you raise there, Monty. They were at the back of the courtroom and they haven't attempted to waylay me after the hearing. She made some splendid remarks about the establishment, and pushed the boundaries of cross examination with a finesse that you must have admired, John." That little smile at the corners of his lips made John's feelings transparent.  
'That precious pair just want to wash their hands of the matter, Monty. So long as Barbara disappears off the public stage and ceases to bother them, they will, for once, let two judges, three barristers and a jury take the moral courage for doing their work for them, yes even Cantwell. He will be well paid but even he isn't as thick skinned as he made out. Someone had to do it and, whatever the motives, he chose to do it." "It's not every day that you have anything good to say about him." Murmured Monty. "And Barbara?" John asked the question that both of them had shied away from the start of their deliberations.  
"It is fortunate that her diary is available for the jury. It is not a modern habit to write diaries expressing your innermost thoughts and feelings as they happen, even in such extreme circumstances as this. We are extremely fortunate that this is so. There has been a testimony of sorts given by Henry in absentia in relation to Barbara"  
John nodded his head in agreement. Monty put that last point very succinctly. He didn't need to ask Monty to expand on it. The room felt warm and cosy with a sense of shared purpose and a meeting of minds. "There's one question I have to ask you, John. What do we do if the jury find her guilty." A sudden cold feeling ran through both of them. John's face appeared to suddenly turn to stone.  
"We adjourn the court and debate that one in chambers. I can't even think of the answer to that one and I hope to god we never have to face that one." Instinctively, he looked at his watch. They had just finished at the right time. It was nearly time to go back into court.

While these deliberations had been going on behind closed doors, Yvonne and Roisin had moved out to the foyer where Cassie greeted them, smiling broadly. In no time at all, she had steered the other two women towards the nearest pub, and bought in the first round.  
"I've slaved all week enough so I've got this afternoon off and tomorrow if I need it"  
Explained Cassie."I'm in need of a drink." "I hope to God that Barbara isn't left waiting till then." "You are driving us back tonight, Roache?" pleaded Cassie with a winning smile as the barman filled her glass up with a double. In turn, Roisin sighed and gave way to the inevitable "Roisin has filled me in on what's going on." Cassie explained, chatting away."I never thought I'd live to see the day to hear Nikki call a guy 'sir"  
"Nikki knew what she was doing."Yvonne pronounced definitely. "She used it to get to hang that brief of theirs out to dry. As for Bodybag, she made a right tit of herself and I bet the Julies will hear it all in no time"  
"Nikki won't tell." Protested Roisin.  
"These things have a habit of getting their way round all by themselves. Believe me." Grinned Yvonne as memories of Larkhall came back to her. 

They had barely taken their seats, Barbara standing at ramrod attention, flanked by Gina and Dominic, when John launched straight into his summing up with none of his usual casual ease of manner.

"Before I sum up this trial, I want to make clear a few preliminary arrangements. The clerk will make available for you, the jury, written transcripts of the trial set out in what I hope is a clear and comprehensible order. This is intended in no way to substitute for what your eyes have seen and your ears have heard over the past two weeks. It is intended as a supplement to your memories, as a definitive record of what was actually said. We have ordered this to be made available as there has been a large quantity of conflicting medical evidence that was placed towards the beginning and the end of the trial with character witnesses and, of course, the evidence of the defendant being sandwiched in the middle. The other preliminary point we would wish to make is that none of you, the jury, should feel in any way constrained to arrive at an early verdict. If there are any points that you have difficulty in resolving, you carry on as long as it takes to resolve them."

John paused to help himself to a drink of water. He was pleased with the thoughts were falling out of his head into the spoken word.

"In summing up, this case is an extraordinarily hard case to give directions to a jury. For a start, only the defendant was present on the occasion of the unfortunate demise of Henry Mills and there are two options. One is that the deceased took his own life in a moment of desperation. If you draw this conclusion, you must acquit the defendant. The other proposition is that the defendant assisted her husband to take his own life. The laws of the land do not recognize arguments put forward by lobbyists for 'mercy killings.' Whatever private sympathies you have, you must put them out of your mind. To return a guilty verdict will find the defendant guilty of murder. To assist you in coming to a verdict, you have at your disposal the diary complied by the defendant. It has the inestimable virtue of being complied contemporaneously within the definition of the word, and has the advantage over any recollections, inadvertently blurred by the passage of time. I am directing you to treat the diary in this way as no one has sought to question its authenticity. It is inevitable that you, the jury, will form a mental picture of the deceased, as if he were present at this court. This will do no harm as long as you are aware of this. The crucial problem for you is in dealing with two people of more than average good character who have been pushed into an extreme situation. On this matter, I cannot give you any direction except to build your conclusions from the interrelated matters which I have set out.  
I must give praise to all parties of the trial, both opposing counsels and the witnesses who have given of their best with one notable exception. I would remind you to utterly disregard the evidence of Mrs Hollamby, the prison officer from Larkhall. Her evidence has been tainted from beginning to end, as she has been utterly unable to tell a straight story but has sought to obtain unfair advantage in being shifty and malicious. By contrast, it would not be improper to praise the high professionalism of Nikki Wade, wing governor of Larkhall which is especially valuable in the quality of contact she has had with the accused."

John paused deliberately at this point so that he could highlight the final point he wished to make and draw together all the strands of the trial.

"I must however finish with reminding the jury above all else to consider the totality of the evidence , that character opinions are only one strand of the evidence and that you are required give all the evidence its due weighting. It only remains for me to give my profound thanks to Monty Everard for his immense help in overseeing the trial and, if he has nothing to add……"at which point, Monty shook his head, "I wish to bid you all good luck, because you will find this decision one of the hardest that you will be asked to make i9n a court of law." The jury shuffled out to their room and there was an outrush of feelings as the emotional dynamics that had propelled the trial forward had snapped. There were no more witnesses, no more forward planning by judges and counsel alike. Everything was given over to twelve anonymous jurymen. They had been compelled by in the court etiquette of formal behaviour that was expected of them. The result was that the debate felt as if it had taken place in a disembodied vacuum and reality now lay elsewhere.

"Coming for a wander?" Yvonne suggested to the others. Both she and Roisin felt extremely sore from sitting on the hard benches in the visitor's gallery and wandered up to the top of the gallery. They stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at the courtroom but did not go through the door to the outside although the way was clear for both of them.

Time started to crawl painfully along and, although nothing was ever said, it was plain that everyone's gaze was fixed on the door to the jury room for some signs of life. Minutes, then quarter hours and finally whole hours of purposeless activity crawled by. Brian Cantwell was possibly the most relaxed of them all as he was starting from the bottom line of losing the case and anything more was a bonus. Barbara didn't care to think what the outcome would be. Jo and George were restless as, although the case felt as if it were stacked their way, they did not dare to draw any conclusions. John and Monty were compelled to look dignified in their red robes of office and resist the urge to ask the usher how matters were proceeding. They had told the jury to take their time and, by four thirty, they made the announcement everyone was expecting.

"As the jury are still undecided, court is adjourned to carry on tomorrow. I would ask the usher to remind the jury to keep their deliberations strictly confidential and be on time tomorrow to carry on where they left off." 


	105. Chapter 105

Betaed By Jen

Part One Hundred And Five

On the Friday morning, Yvonne, Cassie and Roisin again convened in the court building, waiting with rising stress levels for the verdict. Barbara was sequestered in a holding cell somewhere, with Gina and Dominic as escorts, and she too was beginning to feel the strain. Yvonne, Cassie and Roisin, joined by George and Jo, spent far too much of the morning drinking the court canteen's disgusting attempt at coffee, all of them slipping outside for cigarettes every now and then. 

"I realise that juries are a law unto themselves," George commented around noon. "But this is ridiculous." "Let's just hope that all this deliberation will give us the verdict we want," Jo said quietly, but also feeling every ounce of George's frustration with the deciding body. Just then, Nikki and Karen arrived, having both found it almost impossible to concentrate on work for the entirety of the morning. "Are they still not out?" Nikki asked when they approached where the others were sitting. "No," George told them. "And if they take much longer, I think I'm going to internally combust." 

As time dragged slowly by, others began to arrive, including Helen, Thomas, who received a raised eyebrow from Karen, and Crystal. But not long after Crystal's arrival, Gina came up to them looking worried. "Can one of you come and see Barbara?" She said, addressing Jo and George. "The waiting's driving her up the wall and I don't think being stuck in a holding cell is helping." "We'll both come," George said decisively, realising that the interminable waiting was probably aggravated by Barbara's tendency to claustrophobia. "She could probably do with some fresh air," Nikki told them as they moved away with Gina. 

When they reached Barbara's cell, they found Dominic making every attempt to keep her calm, though noticeably having very little success. "Look who I've brought to see you," Gina said, trying to sound brighter than she felt. Barbara was visibly trembling and she had a wild look in her eyes that didn't bode well for mental or emotional stability. "Would you like to go outside for a while, Barbara?" Jo asked her gently. "That might help, yes," Barbara agreed. "Why don't you two go and get lunch or a coffee or something?" George said to Gina and Dominic. "We'll take care of Barbara." "Well, don't lose her," Gina said with a smile. "Or you'll get me sacked." Tucking Barbara's arm through hers, Jo led the way along the corridor towards one of the side doors that led out of the building. "But what about the judge?" Barbara asked as George walked alongside them. "He surely wouldn't allow an unaccompanied prisoner to take the air whilst waiting for a verdict." "Oh, don't worry about that," George said confidently. "We can handle him." "Is that right, Ms Channing?" Came John's voice as he rounded the corner of the passage, clearly having heard her assertion. "Of course, My Lord," She said just as confidently. "Because you're not going to deny a woman the right to a temporary cure for claustrophobia, are you," She said, emphasising the last two words. "Not at all, Ms Channing," He said, seeing that she had him somewhat over a barrel. But as he passed her, he put his lips next to George's ear and said extremely quietly though with the threat clearly just below the surface, "Don't you dare lose her." Having heard what he'd said, Barbara smiled at him. "I've come this far, My Lord, so I'm not about to duck out now." "I'm relieved to hear it," John said as he walked away from them. When they reached the outside, Barbara took in great lungfuls of the icy cold air surrounding them. "Is that better?" George asked her. "Much," Barbara replied gratefully. 

They'd only been outside for about five minutes when Yvonne and Nikki appeared. "The judge told us where you were," Yvonne explained. "How're you doing?" "Not brilliantly," Barbara replied dully. "I feel as though I'm in limbo." "You are in a way," Jo told her. "But you've got a lot of people here to support you." "Yeah," Yvonne agreed. "There's Karen, Thomas, Helen, Crystal, Cassie, Roisin, you name it." "You've all been wonderful to me," Barbara said, a few tears rising to her eyes. "Do you seriously think any of us would be anywhere else at a time like this?" Nikki asked her fondly. "We haven't come this far just to let you go through it alone." 

When Yvonne, Nikki, Jo and George returned to the group in the canteen, after returning Barbara to her cell, they saw an unexpected sight moving towards them. Tom, Zubin, Kay, and believe it or not, Connie were approaching their by now large group of supporters. "Some of us are on call," Tom explained. "So we don't know how long we'll be able to be here." "Thank you for coming," Jo told them with a smile. But most of the eyes in the assembled group were focused unerringly on Connie. She had spoken for the prosecution, and many of the Larkhall hackles were rising at her presence. Connie could feel their growing antipathy towards her and she momentarily doubted her wisdom in coming to court with the others. Moving forward slightly, she took a deep breath, and took the step she had been meaning to since deciding to be here for the verdict. "Before any of you say a word," She said, sounding sincere but wary. "I've had a change of heart. We are all capable of making mistakes, especially professional ones, and this time, I did what was previously unthinkable to me and got it wrong." After a short pause, where each and every one of the Larkhall women examined her for any hint of insincerity, Yvonne rose from her chair, and rounding the table where they were sat, shook Connie's hand. "It's nice to see a witness who isn't afraid of changing her mind." This was a vote of acceptance from all of them, and Connie offered a tentative smile of thanks, feeling the depth of feeling that bound all of them in the same quest for Barbara's freedom. As conversation broke out again amongst the assembled group, Connie slipped into a chair beside George. "That was a little unexpected," George said quietly to her. "A little overdue though, don't you think?" Connie replied thoughtfully. "As long as it's sincere, the acknowledgement of a mistaken belief is always welcome," George told her. "What made you reconsider?" "You were absolutely right to persuade me to come and listen to Barbara's evidence," Connie told her with a rueful smile. "I think you knew it would change my mind, didn't you." "I thought it was possible," George admitted. "Nothing else would have done it." "I'm glad you made me do it," Connie said a little more quietly so that the others wouldn't hear her. "Yes," George agreed. "So am I." Sitting on the other side of George, Jo intermittently heard bits of this conversation, and couldn't help wondering at the undercurrent she could feel between these two, up until now, opposing women. 

"Will all participants in the case of the Crown versus Mills, please make their way back to court two for the verdict." Once the announcement had been heard, most of them felt that their hearts were in their mouths. "Come on," George said, getting to her feet. "This is what we've all been waiting for." As everyone else made their way up to the gallery, Jo and George made their way towards the barristers' entrance to the court. But halfway across the foyer, George saw that her father was walking in through the heavy swing doors. "Daddy," She called. "You're just in time. The jury's back with the verdict." "About time," Joe Channing replied, making his way towards the stairs. Up in the gallery, the members of Barbara's support group had taken up places on the first three rows on the left-hand side. Catching sight of Joe, Karen waved to him. When he sat down beside her, Karen said, "I didn't expect to see you here." "And I didn't ever expect one of our orchestra to be on trial for murder," Joe replied sadly. "It felt only right to be here for the verdict." They were then joined by Grayling who sat down on the other side of Joe. "Has Alison Warner let you off the leash for the afternoon?" Karen asked him, trying to slightly lighten the tension rising up in them all. "She can go hang if she's got a problem with me being here," Neil said darkly, making Joe laugh surreptitiously. Glancing around them, Karen saw that quite a number of their orchestra for 'The Creation' had turned up, no doubt wanting to know what would happen to someone who had been one of them. The gallery was almost full by the time the clerk of the court called out "All Rise," and Karen wondered what their combined reaction would be to the verdict. 

"Foreman of the jury, please step forward," The clerk intoned once the two judges were seated. "Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?" "Yes," The foreman answered. "Do you find Mrs. Barbara Mills guilty or not guilty on the charge of murder?" "Not guilty." One down, one to go, Karen thought to herself, realising that she had been gripping Joe's hand without even knowing it. "In the alternative," Continued the clerk. "Do you find Mrs. Barbara Mills guilty or not guilty of the charge of manslaughter?" So many members of the gallery seemed to hold their breath as they waited for that all-important answer. "Not guilty," Said the foreman, who was then drowned out by the cheer that seemed to fill the courtroom with noise. "Sorry," Karen said sheepishly, letting go of Joe's hand. "Feel free," Joe replied with a broad smile. Looking over at John, both Karen and Joe saw just how relieved both he and Monty looked. They didn't have to sentence Barbara, they didn't have to condemn her to years of what would be nothing more than a living death to her. When the cheering had eventually calmed down, John looked over at Barbara and smiled. "Mrs. Mills, it gives me great pleasure to tell you that you are without doubt free to go." 


	106. Chapter 106

Part One Hundred and Six

"You're free, Babs." Gina repeated John's words into Barbara's unbelieving ears. She stared up at the infinitely kindly and relaxed faces of John and Monty and, of course, remembered that she had once performed with them. "No more pie and chips and lockups for you"  
"You come with us to see your friends. We'll look after you." Dominic urged her kindly. Somehow, Barbara's feet carried her out of the dock where she had stood for so long. Gina and Dominic ceased to be prison officers who, at the end of the day, had to fasten the handcuffs on her, and lock her up for a living. Now, they accompanied her as well wishers through the back of the court. Everything felt very strange to her, as she was only starting to adjust to her new reality.

Behind her, the visitor's gallery started to empty itself rapidly, leaving John and Monty sitting limply in their thrones. They were mentally exhausted.  
"Thank God the jury voted the right way, John. For the life of me, I do not know what I would have done if the verdict had gone the other way"  
"Me neither." John frankly confessed." What do you say to the idea of a celebratory drink?" The idea hit the right spot with Monty. It didn't seem right to shuffle off without some acknowledgement. He had never conceived of John as a drinking partner, but there were a lot of things he had never conceived of when the trial had first started, what felt like a long time ago.  
"You lead the way, John."

A crowd of her well-wishers from the gallery clattered down the stairs to join Gina and Dominic, as Barbara's feet made their way by themselves towards the heavy swing doors. Group instinct decided that Jo and George take Gina's and Dominic's places either side of Barbara.  
"Are you ready to face the press, Barbara?" Grayling asked gently, experience knowing what would be in store for her.  
Barbara nodded her head and pushed the heavy door open and the others grouped themselves protectively around her, Nikki conspicuous only by her height and not through any personal choice. Barbara was utterly dazed by the crowd of photographers ,who crowded in from all sides from out of nowhere. She was half blinded as the flashguns exploded in the gathering gloom of a winter February late afternoon.

"What does it feel like to be free?" a distant voice asked her.

"Like nothing else on earth I could imagine…….I want to give my undying thanks to all my friends who have stood by me, who have encouraged me when I have been tempted to give way to despair. I must thank first of all the twelve members of the jury who have done their duty, have listened carefully to everything that has been said and have given me my freedom. I also want to thank my barristers, Jo Mills and George Channing who have worked so tirelessly for me. I must not forget the witnesses who have given their time to speak up for me and, in particularly Dr Kay Scarpetta who has traveled all the way from America. I want to thank the humanity and common decency of the judges, John Deed and Monty Everard……."

At that point, Barbara's mind froze on her to name more than those who had came immediately to mind. "………and anyone else I haven't thanked personally. They know who they are and know my feelings"  
"What are you going to do with your freedom"  
"I really don't know as yet. I'll spend some time, catching up with my friends and devoting proper time to my husband's memory. I really haven't anything else I can think of to say"  
"Hey, Nikki Wade, how does it feel to be a lesbian cop killer and run a prison?" called a particularly strident reporter. Nikki only felt cold contempt at this illiterate reporter, who came over as a badly behaved adolescent brat. She must be getting old, she thought. "You must be from the Sun." came Nikki's ice-cold voice, dripping with contempt for it. "I'm not going to answer that one because I don't have to. If you're going to ask any questions, ask Barbara or her barristers about her trial. That's what you're here for, aren't you?" Outraged, Helen made space for Nikki to slip back through the double doors and followed her in. Incandescent with anger, Grayling strode forward to the interviewer and pulled him to one side, speaking in a low, angry tone of voice.  
"One word in print out of turn and I'll personally see to it that your feet won't touch the ground, your paper will have to grovel to the public on page one and you will be out on your ear. Believe me, I can do it"  
The full impact of vengeful authority exploding over him was an almighty shock to the brash reporter and he could see a P45 hovering before his eyes. Besides, he could see the other reporters grinning at him, and he couldn't hack that one. Yvonne was hugely impressed by Grayling's valid alternative of threatening the prick with a concrete overcoat, and slipped back to tell Nikki the good news.

Jo and George smiled for the interviewers, who had got their required two-minute sound bite and, in the abrupt silence, politely escorted Barbara back into the foyer and to the nearest seat. Behind her back, a two-person storm cloud was illuminated by contrast by the feelings of radiance that pervaded the high domed hall. Somehow there seemed a point to the boldly and optimistically religious frescoed ceiling but not to Amanda and Greg Hunt.  
"This has been a total miscarriage of justice." Amanda stormed.  
"I'm going to write to the Daily Mail about this. The lily livered jury were totally taken in by the best con artist in the business." Pronounced Greg coldly. However, their attempts at stage whispers reckoned without the sharpest ears in the business of human life.

Immediately, Yvonne reached for her mobile and phoned Lauren.  
"Babs is free, Lauren"  
"Wow, that's fantastic news," enthused Lauren loudly in Yvonne's ear.  
"How soon can you get home and start organizing the party? There's the regular gang coming give or take a few." "As soon as, mum. You leave it to me."

"Everyone's invited back to my place for a celebration party" Yvonne announced deliberately loudly amongst all the high spirits of the crowd around her." That is, except for your very much ex step children who can piss off to where they came from. if that's all right with you, Babs"  
"I never heard of an ex stepchild before," chimed in Cassie with as much apparent innocence as she could contrive. It might have been her motto that wherever Yvonne was stoking up trouble, Cassie should follow on behind her.  
"It's easy to think of them that way when I see two such greedy, vindictive people who are not worthy of Peter's memory." Barbara observed. With the gradual dawning realization of her freedom, she realized that she was in a position to settle a few scores, being well protected by the higher echelons of the prison service plus two barristers. Greg and Amanda had tried to pretend not to listen but eventually their pride overcame their discretion.

"I suppose you're glad that your side won." Greg pronounced coldly to Yvonne "Yeah, like justice was done." Yvonne retorted. "How does it feel to know you were wrong"  
"We haven't the slightest idea what you're on about." Blustered Greg. "We knew exactly what you were thinking, all the time we sat in the gallery." Yvonne retorted, a grin frozen on her face though she wasn't laughing." You were looking down your oh so superior noses at us and at Babs. We kept quiet, well most of the time, because we wanted Babs to get set free and then to look at your faces to see how much the verdict chokes you." Nikki and Karen exchanged glances. They could see Yvonne gearing up for all out warfare and both knew that Yvonne's pure loathing of the pair of them could boil over the top. Karen was first to intervene.  
"Do I have to put you in handcuffs, Yvonne?" "Come on, Karen. I'm only having a little fun with these two losers." Protested Yvonne.  
Nikki moved up on the other side of Yvonne and, in her best wing governor tone, cracked out her order.  
"Come on Atkins, you've got a party to host. You can't let the side down"  
"Yeah Yvonne, we've got other places to be. I'm gagging for a drink and so is Roache." Put in Cassie. Yvonne's mounting anger was snuffed out like a blown out candle as she turned away from them. What replaced it was cold contempt. She and the others could afford to pass them by to whinge impotently. They were history.

Connie's pager was already bleeping, as she joined the surge of spectators flowing out of the gallery. She, Tom and Zubin had been jammed half way down the staircase when she heard Yvonne's invitation. She sighed to herself that at least St Mary's had spared them that long.  
"We have to go back"  
Tom and Zubin nodded. They were exhilarated by the verdict, but even then that nagging feeling started to intrude into that good feeling that they ought to be back at the hospital. Guilt made them picture in their minds what must be building up in their absence. Connie came over to the group with her brightest smile.  
"I couldn't help overhearing your announcement of a party. Normally, I and my two very disreputable friends would love to come. Unfortunately, I've just been paged by St Mary's and it's only a matter of time before Zubin and Tom get called also. Have a great party on us"  
The three of them faded into the background away from the centre of good spirits as reluctantly, their feet dragged them away in the direction of a waiting black cab. Very soon, Grayling explained that he had to make tracks elsewhere and received a warm send off.  
"Well, you can count us in, Yvonne." Helen pronounced for her and Nikki that they would make up numbers.  
"And me, Yvonne. I've had two weeks of staying in poring over case notes. All work and no play makes Jo a dull girl. Are you coming, George, and keep me company"  
"I'm sorry, Yvonne, I can't make it. I feel desperately tired and all I want to do is head for home have a soak in the bath and an early night. Trials can get me sometimes this way." Yvonne did wonder why George seemed so tired. She could hear it in her voice as well as see it in her face but she let it go. George's words resonated with Jo much more because, for a lot of the trial, George had been the strong one. Besides, wasn't it her habit, not George's to go through a kickback at the end of a long trial because she had invested so much of herself emotionally in it? She left it alone. Kay chose this ideal moment to make her excuses to leave early. She hadn't been paged, texted or phoned by Marino but she felt the pull of her own unfinished work from across the Atlantic. "I'll go back with you, George. I'd surely love to come to the party but I've got a flight back to Virginia tomorrow and face what's piled up on my desk while I've been away. It has been a real honour and pleasure to meet you all"  
The farewells of George and Kay were very poignant as they made their departures.  
"Well, Josh is looking after the children so I'm coming with you Barbara." Crystal pronounced."

As the crowd left made a pretty good number, everyone cheered up, especially at the prospect of it being at Yvonne's house. It had the reputation of the perfect lotus eating environment and the best company imaginable. Even though February weather ruled the swimming pool out of bounds, there was plenty left over. In no time, the line of cars zigzagged their way through the London streets out towards the land of freedom. Barbara lay back in the incredibly luxurious, adjustable passenger seat in Yvonne's car. She could let herself be driven and not have to worry about a thing. She was in safe hands and felt the car speed through the streets. Yvonne's profile was focused on the road apart from when she occasionally turned to her to smile and make some commonplace remark. On a day like this, nothing was mundane.

The sharp turn off the road, the crunch of gravel under the car and the sight of high trees and the shape of a large house against the darkness told Barbara that she'd reached journey's end. "Well, Babs, this is my gaff. You might find it a bit big after Larkhall but you'll get used to it." Yvonne grinned reassuringly.  
Lights beamed out of open windows and an illuminated rectangle expanded where the front door opened and Barbara could tell that this was Lauren. Before, she could accept the vision as quite real, Barbara had to go to the front door where the bright colours and luxury fittings invited her in. As she crossed the threshold, it totally overwhelmed her and drove away the darkness forever. She was rooted to the spot. "Come in, Barbara. Mum has told you what we have in store for you"  
Barbara nodded. "Before you ask, I wanted to explain why I never went to see you in court. I did a deal with mum that I would work the family business and keep the house straight, everything, so that mum could spend as much time as possible in court. Besides, you know how much court freaked me out when I was in the dock. I got to visit you in Larkhall but court was too much for me. You do understand"  
Barbara's smile of understanding was enough answer for Lauren. After the stress of waiting for the verdict, having to do an impromptu speech for the nation's press and being whisked away into a new world, she felt very much lost for words.

It had only been four months that Barbara had lived in the dull painted, bolts and bars world of Larkhall but that had seemed an eternity, almost erasing any past memories except, of course, her previous spell there. Her life with Henry in the serene ordered world of a country vicarage seemed like something she had read in a book. Now she was swept up into a new existence with those who were close to her. She found herself in a large room, with unheard of delicacies like party food and a glass of sherry in her hand while all her friends gradually filed into the room.By the fireplace, lazed a large contented dog who rose to his feet.  
"I'm used to a party with loud music, lots to drink but like many of us here, Barbara, we remember what it was like first day out so I just want to say welcome, Babs and we'll take it as easy as you want." Yvonne said simply before going on to add quietly to her." You know that you're welcome to stay here as long as it takes to find your feet." It crossed Jo's mind with a brief flash and was gone again that only she and Helen hadn't done time behind bars at Larkhall. This was shaping up as no mindless, drunken party but a demonstration of that highly sensitive caring Larkhall support group that she had come to know and respect. 


	107. Chapter 107

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Seven

After making her excuses, telling Yvonne that all she really wanted was a soak in the bath and an early night, George drove home feeling utterly exhausted. It was over, the trial at least, and Barbara was finally free. As Kay sat beside her, watching her navigate the Friday afternoon London traffic, she could see the tiredness exuding from George's every pore. "You and Jo did a wonderful job, you know," Kay said into the silence. "We couldn't have done it without you, or Tom, or Nikki, or any of you," George acknowledged with a tired smile. "But yes, I'm glad it's over. Barbara should never have been put on remand, in fact she should never even have been charged, but that's our lovely justice system for you." "At least you don't have the possibility that any conviction you might achieve may send someone to the electric chair." George shuddered. "You're absolutely right," She said, meaning every word. "I am very, very lucky in that respect." 

When they reached home, George went up for a bath, and Kay said she would cook. "I'm not especially hungry," George mildly protested. "But you need to eat," Kay said gently but firmly. "And I promised myself that at some point while I was here, I would give you a taste of my almost infamous Italian cooking." "All right," George agreed with a smile, thinking that John would never have found it so easy to persuade her to eat. "As long as it's fairly light, I would love to be introduced to what I suspect Marino gets on a regular basis." Kay laughed. "It is usually the way to get him to stay and discuss a case," She admitted with a fond smile. So, whilst George lay upstairs in a steaming, scented bath, Kay hunted out whatever she could find in George's kitchen. She had to content herself with dry instead of fresh pasta, but she managed to find the accoutrements to an authentic Italian meat sauce in the fridge and freezer. As she made a fresh tomato sauce, adding garlic and fresh herbs as she went, she put on some light classical music, something to soothe rather than immediately capture the brain's attention. She hummed quietly to the music as she sliced onions, mushrooms and tomatoes on a chopping board, eventually adding them and the meat to the sauce simmering on the cooker. Not finding any Parmigiano Reggiano in the fridge, Kay settled for using Gruyere for the cheese sauce, grating it into a fine, powdery consistency that melted in an instant when she added it to the white sauce already heating gently in another saucepan. After briefly cooking the pasta, she began putting the lasagne together, layering the pasta, meat and tomato mixture and then the cheese sauce, and then starting all over again. When she finally placed the well-filled dish in the oven, she began clearing up, setting the dining-room table and opening a bottle of Frascati that she found in the fridge. 

When George emerged from her bath, the heady aroma of cooking lasagne rose into her nostrils and for the first time in months, her appetite seemed to rise to greet it. She sincerely wanted to taste this wonderfully aromatic creation, to sample its flavours and textures, and actually finding that she was, if only a little, hungry. Going downstairs, she found Kay putting together a small green salad to accompany their dinner, and she stood in the kitchen doorway just watching her. It had been nice, she realised, to have some companionship in her home for the last couple of weeks, and she would miss Kay when she finally went home tomorrow. Kay could feel George's eyes on her, and turned to give her a tentative smile. "You don't mind me taking over your kitchen?" "No," George said in surprise. "Usually I hate it, someone else invading my territory, but it's different with you. Much to my amazement, I've enjoyed having you in my house over the last couple of weeks." "I doubt it would last," Kay said philosophically. "You're like me, you prefer to maintain your space and your distance from just about everyone." "You mean I act in a similar manner with Jo and John that you do with Benton?" "Possibly," Kay admitted ruefully. "I can't really comment on how you are with Jo, because being in love with a woman isn't something I've ever experienced." "Do you think you ever could, fall in love with a woman, I mean?" "No," Kay said without any hesitation. "It doesn't mean that I can't appreciate female beauty, I just don't think I could ever find a woman sexually compelling. Lucy often tells me that I don't know what I'm missing." "Well, each to their own," George replied amicably, pleased by the fact that Kay was being so free and frank with her. 

When they eventually sat down at the table, plates of Kay's sumptuous creation in front of them, George poured them both a glass of wine. "Here's to success," Kay said, raising her glass. "To success," George agreed with her. "Success and Barbara's freedom." When she took her first bite of the lasagne, she groaned in authentic pleasure. "How on earth do you get lasagne to be so light?" She asked in amazement. "I guess it comes with practice," Kay said a little shyly. "Italian cooking was the one thing my mother ever taught me." "If I'd been a boy," George said with a smile. "My father would have taught me to hunt, to shoot, and anything else that he might have seen fit for the son of an up and coming judge. I sometimes think he was disappointed at getting a girl instead." "You only have to see the two of you together to see that's not true," Kay said fondly. "I don't think I've ever seen a father who is more proud of his daughter's achievements than your father is of yours." "I doubt he'll be very proud of my complete inability to acknowledge the fact that I very probably have breast cancer," George said dismally, making Kay feel slightly relieved that it had been George to raise the forbidden topic, not her. "I think he'd be very worried about you," Kay said quietly. "And quite rightly so, as would John, and Jo, and anyone else who cares about you." "Yes," George said regretfully. "Both Daddy and Jo will be worried about me, and John will go off me quicker than he ever has done before." "He does love you, you know," Kay said quietly. George laughed mirthlessly. "Well, he won't for very much longer. Darling, what you need to understand about John, is that he is inevitably attracted to anything beautiful. Hence Connie Beauchamp, Jo, Karen, last year's Angela, and God knows who else that I don't know about." "George, you don't know how you might look afterwards, and you don't know how John is going to react to it." "Kay, I'm not stupid," George said a little bitterly. "I'm going to be damaged goods as far as John is concerned, and that's not something I think I can bear." "So do something about it sooner rather than later," Kay said a little cajolingly. "This may sound stupid," George said tentatively. "But I don't think I know how to." This was her opportunity, Kay thought in resigned acceptance, her opening to tell George about what she had done on her behalf. "On Tuesday," Kay began cautiously. "I once again spent the afternoon in theatre, courtesy of Tom's lack of a registrar. During that operation, I became acquainted with a general surgeon, someone who deals with, along with just about everything else, breast tumours. After we came out of theatre, I went to see him, and told him about you." "That must have been a conversation and a half," George said ruefully. "Yes, it was," Kay admitted a little sheepishly. "As well as his NHS commitments, he also has a private list at another hospital. I took the liberty of making you an appointment for next Thursday, one which I can only encourage you to attend." 

They were quiet for the rest of the meal, George not having yet voiced any thought on what Kay had done for her. But when they were clearing up in amicable silence, George ventured a question. "There's a little more to this than what you've already told me, isn't there?" "Yes," Kay told her without any preamble. "As a result of how the health service works over here, you need to be referred for treatment." "Does that mean I need to go to my GP?" George asked, not sounding thrilled with the idea. "The last time I saw him, was when he gave me the all too wonderful news that John's inability to remain faithful had given me Chlamydia, so I'm not all that eager to see him again in a hurry." "No, it doesn't need to be your GP," Kay explained. "Mr. Griffin told me that as I am a fully licensed doctor, I can refer you to him myself." "I sense a but," George said knowingly. "In order to follow the correct procedure," Kay said carefully. "I need to examine you, just to make sure that you do actually need to be referred to a general surgeon." George regarded her thoughtfully. She wasn't sure how she felt at giving Kay a flash of her assets, but she supposed that Kay wouldn't have suggested it if it weren't absolutely necessary. "Fine," She replied, putting the last plate into the cupboard. 

As Kay followed her up the stairs, she could feel all of George's mental barriers going right up. George obviously wasn't looking forward to this, and Kay tried to remember every method and instinct she'd used in her medical school days, to persuade a patient into co-operating and relaxing with her. That was the thing with dead bodies, she mused to herself, they didn't argue, ask questions or refuse to let her near them. Following George into her bedroom, Kay averted her gaze as George removed her blouse and bra. "It's usually easier if you're lying down," Kay told her, waiting until George was lying flat on her back on top of the duvet. Having retrieved a penlight from her medical bag, Kay perched on the side of the bed. George had her head turned away from her, clearly trying to keep her mask of emotional indifference in place. "Which breast is the one with the lump?" Kay asked. "My left," George replied stonily, feeling Kay's eyes on her, but refusing to meet them, determined to maintain her emotional equilibrium to the end. Kay was more than a little averse to laying her fingers on George's skin, invading her privacy in such a fundamental way. But this was the only way to ascertain what she needed to know in order to refer George to Ric Griffin. George tensed when she felt Kay's long, delicate fingers on the flesh of her right breast, her entire body rebelling at someone else touching what was supposed to be only either Jo's or John's familiar territory. "I need to examine the other breast, to find out what is normal," Kay explained, needing her words to cover up the rather awkward silence. George furiously bit down on her lip, willing her body to remain still, not wanting to betray her extreme discomfort at what Kay was doing to her. Kay examined every inch of George's right breast, making George blush scarlet as her body instantly betrayed her by reacting to Kay's gentle touch. Kay was aware of George's physical reaction to her, but completely ignored it, approaching her task with the professional disinterest that her training had taught her. George felt utterly mortified as she felt her nipple hardening under Kay's expert exploration, and wanted nothing more than to bury herself forever in the duvet under her. When Kay moved onto her left breast, gently palpating the flesh, George's nipple yet again rose to attention. "I'm sorry," George said, feeling the need to apologise for her reaction to Kay's touch. Putting a cool hand on George's cheek, Kay turned her face towards her. "George, it's perfectly normal, I promise," Kay told her sincerely, wanting to minimise her discomfort. "What, sexually reacting to someone I don't even think of in that way." "You can't help your body's natural responses," Kay said with a slight smile. "That sounds like an excuse John would use," George said with a nervous laugh. "If our roles were reversed," Kay assured her. "I would probably react in exactly the same way." "I'll take your word for it," George said a little disbelievingly. "So," She asked after another thoughtful pause. "Have you found what you're looking for?" "Yes," Kay said regretfully. "If I look at the lump I can feel with the penlight, I can see that the skin is slightly discoloured. George, are you sure that you've only had this since Christmas?" "Christmas was when I found it," George told her. "Though how long I'd had it before that is anyone's guess." "How often do you usually examine yourself?" Kay asked. "Probably not as often as I should," George admitted dismally. "Okay, you can get dressed," Kay said, moving away and switching off her penlight, and dropping it in her pocket. Swiftly putting on her bra and blouse, George found that she was unable to prevent the tears from running down her face. "I've been really stupid about this, haven't I?" She said, feeling tiny enough to slip into a hole and die. Laying a hand on her shoulder just as soon as she was fully clothed again, Kay said, "I'm not going to tell you that fear is stupid." "You think so though, don't you," George said bitterly. "George, just because I'm a doctor, doesn't mean that if I were in your position, I would have approached it any differently. I have absolutely no idea how I might feel and how I might react to something like this, so don't beat yourself up about something that you can't change. What's important, is that you're doing something about it now." "Only because you've made me," George told her with a watery smile. "I couldn't just sit by and do nothing," Kay told her honestly. "I would be breaking the Hippocratic oath for a start." 


	108. Chapter 108

Part One Hundred and Eight 

Life in Yvonne's house made a restful haven for Barbara for her to find her feet, as she woke up bright and early on Saturday morning. For a start, the bed she lay in was luxuriously soft, and the duvet incredibly enveloping. Her possessions from the vicarage had been set out in the spare room that she occupied. First sight in the morning, it gave the room a feeling of familiarity and made it feel like home. Best of all to her, the bedroom door was only shut with her permission. By turning the handle, she could have the run of the house when she wanted. She could go to bed, and get up in the morning, whenever she wished. This made life so simple and unregimented. It just so happened that she got dressed early, wandered into the living room to find Yvonne making tea and toast and smiling at her to sit back and take it easy while she pottered in the kitchen.

She soon found out that there was a quiet restful undemanding quality about Yvonne that she had not fully appreciated before. She could read the entire contents of the Guardian over a morning cup of tea, and maintain a companionable silence, knowing that Yvonne was there. This alone seemed like luxury to her. Her memories reached back to when she and Yvonne used to share the same tea table at Larkhall but now, there was no Shell Dockley, no Fenner and Bodybag to jangle her danger instincts. It was inevitable that memories came back to her of the Julies and Denny still in Larkhall but she knew she had to let them fade temporarily in order to let her heal herself at Yvonne's house. The faces and voices at the celebration party had agreed with her. Even the abbreviated report of her trial and release on Page 17 did not disturb her composure. Barbara finished her second cup of tea and decided to take a stroll around the back garden. Outside the warmth of the house, it was a rare sunny winter's day. The grass was speckled by dead leaves, the icy cold water in the swimming pool awaited the coming of the summer seasons and sunbeams angled low across the lawn, casting exaggeratedly long shadows across the lawn from the bare trees. Barbara paced around the garden, deep in contemplation until the cold proved too much for her.

While the rest of the morning passed effortlessly by in a dreamy haze doing nothing in particular, more definite plans started to shape themselves in Barbara's mind, without the need for even kindly men and women in uniforms to arrange them for her. She didn't realize that Lauren, who had been imprisoned far longer than she had been, took a lot longer to brave the outside world.

"Yvonne, I've been thinking. I ought to start doing something with my time and I thought I'd visit Henry's grave"  
"You're ready for it, Babs"  
"I'm sure of it. I would very much like you to give me a lift there, Yvonne. I was thinking of going this afternoon if that's possible"  
"You tell me the time and I'll be ready." The day drifted on until close to the appointed hour and Barbara disappeared to get changed. While Yvonne was attending to her makeup, her sharp ears just picked out the faint call from Lauren from some distant part of the house. "I'm just going with Trigger to Cassie's and Roisin's." Yvonne didn't try to shout back as, by now, Lauren would be outside the front door. What was strange today was that, for once, Yvonne wasn't the last to be ready. From rustling sounds, Yvonne gathered that Barbara was changing her clothes. She sat back reading a magazine taking it easy until the soft sounds of footsteps announced a nervous looking, immaculately dressed Barbara. "Do I look properly dressed, Yvonne"  
"You look fine, Babs"  
Yvonne's warm, easy going tones visibly reassured Barbara and she led the way to her car. While Yvonne unlocked the car, Barbara looked around and was dazzled by the view around her. Yvonne's house sprawled with perfect luxurious ease outside which her gleaming car spelt luxury. The view felt spectacular as she had come here in the pitch dark.

Presently, Yvonne drove them through the almost unbearably vivid, new painted countryside where everything looked fresh. With practiced easy, Yvonne drew them close to the church and Barbara started to get nervous. All her time at Larkhall, she had kept in her mind's eye, precious images of when she was so happy with Henry with the vicarage, the church and church hall at the centre of their universe. Today, she would confront that reality, when she knew that time and people had moved on .  
'If you don't mind, Yvonne, I don't want to go near the church or the vicarage. I just want to visit Henry's grave. He'll be there, even if everyone else isn't"  
"Whatever you want, Babs. I'll sit in the car for as long as you want as I suppose you'll want to be on your own with him"  
Barbara smiled gratefully at the other woman's thoughtfulness and set out unsteadily, veering away from the church as far as possible. Amongst the ancient carved headstones and cropped grass, her past was comfortably distanced and some instinct led her to the particular sharp edged sturdy stone shape and the carved words, which announced his presence. An immense feeling of peace and communion flowed into her, and time ceased to flow. She knelt on the grass and silently, her lips started to move.

"Well, Henry dear, I'm here at last even if I have been a little late. Some foolish people had the utterly absurd idea that I had united you with your maker earlier than God wished it. I have been back at Larkhall, you know, back to where we first met. I'm glad to say that I was treated very kindly by nearly everyone, the Julies, Denny whom of course you remember. Of course Bodybag was her usual heartless ignorant self but what else would you expect of her? I've a surprise to tell you, Henry, as to just who is running G Wing these days.You'll have heard me talk of my dear friend, Nikki, who was so protective of me when I first came to Larkhall. Well, she's in charge now and ,with Karen above her, they couldn't have been kinder. It hasn't been easy at times in prison but I know your illness wasn't either, Henry. What I wanted to tell you most of all that at the very end of my trial, all those friends of us from the orchestra were with us, cheering us on in our hearts. You will remember of course, John and Monty. They were so kind and patient with us for what cannot have been a pleasant prospect. As for Jo and George, they moved heaven and earth so that I could be free. You'll remember George very well, from presenting the bouquet of roses to her and how nervous she was. Well, both she and Jo were as resolute as steel this last fortnight. You would have been proud of them all if you had seen them………….It was a pity that you weren't able to talk as much to them as much as you had wished, after the performance but I knew how much it took it out of you to deliver that final and very gracious speech of yours………"

A passing couple quietly threaded their way through the graveyard, out for a healthy morning's walk and, even in their momentary mood of contemplation, thought nothing of the middle aged woman kneeling before a grave, the odd tear stealing down her cheeks. She must be there for a good reason, they thought, before they made their way to the field at the far gate. The graveyard was a good place for acceptance of people, far better than some of the pitilessly fast rushing streets of London.

Yvonne lay back in the car, the bright winter sunshine shining in her eyes listening to the car radio. She didn't put on Bruce Springsteen as she might have done but reached for something softer and more reflective. It matched the way she could be when the mood took her. It was only when a lot of time had passed that she thought to discreetly check that Barbara was all right. She locked the car, glanced at the church and found her way to the graveyard. In the distance, she could make out Barbara so she stopped and leaned against an ancient stone wall.

"I'm free at last now, dear Henry, and I'm staying at Yvonne's house who know will look after me . I have been luckier than most, if I think about it. I have known and loved two good men while I know that friends of mine from Larkhall have not been so lucky. What I do with my life for the future, only God knows, but I know that you will never be far from my thoughts. Goodbye for now, Henry and rest peacefully and know that I shall return….."

It was only then that Barbara realized how frozen her hands and cheeks were and how cramped her body was. She got herself to her feet and saw Yvonne in the distant, smiling and infinitely patient. Time was unfettered, free to run at its own pace. 


	109. Chapter 109

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Nine

Kay woke early on the Saturday morning, probably because she knew that today she would be going home, seeing Marino and possibly Lucy, and her beautiful house once again. As she had plenty of time before they needed to get ready to leave for the airport, Kay went downstairs and switched on George's computer. It didn't take her long to compile a brief letter to Ric Griffin, stating what she'd found during her examination of George the night before, and explaining that she definitely thought it required further investigation by a specialist in that field, namely him. Printing a copy, she signed it and left it on the blotter, where George couldn't possibly fail to find it. Making them both a cup of tea, she went upstairs and quietly tapped on George's door. At the muffled command to come in, she did so, switching the light onto its dimmest setting, and putting the mug of tea down on the bedside table. 

"What time is it?" George asked groggily as she turned over. "Still quite early," Kay told her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "How're you feeling this morning?" "Erm, just tired," George replied, thinking that this was all she ever seemed to feel lately. "The only advice I can give you for the moment," Kay said gently but firmly. "And this is going by what happened last Saturday," She said, referring to George's dip in blood sugar. "Is for you to try to keep eating. Such a severe alteration in your usual hormonal activity can affect things like your blood sugar, so keep a watch on the anorexia at least until you've seen Ric Griffin." "You don't mince your words, do you," George said dryly, sitting up and reaching for her tea. "No, I don't," Kay said with a slight smile. "Because it wouldn't do you any good for me to go entirely soft on you. Now, I woke up earlier and couldn't get back to sleep, so I've written your referral letter for next Thursday. It's downstairs in your office." "Thank you," George said after taking a swig of the hot, sweet liquid. 

Later that morning as they drove to the airport, George was quiet, somehow not wanting to relinquish the friendly support she'd had over the last two weeks. Seeming to sense her inner turmoil, Kay said, "I will keep in touch, I promise." Sparing her a glance in the driving mirror, George said, "I'd like that. I think the next few weeks if not months are going to be a little trying to say the least. I'd also like to know that you're still managing to stay out of the way of that killer." "Yes," Kay said with a world-weary tone to her voice. "He isn't something I'm looking forward to going back to." "Or she," George pointed out. "No," Kay said with absolute certainty. "This one's definitely a man. Either that or she's a particularly aggressive lesbian, but I doubt it." "Well, just be careful," George said with a slight shudder. "I always am," Kay said with a wry little smile. "Though it sometimes doesn't make any difference." "Is anyone meeting you off the plane when you get back?" "Marino's meeting me at DC airport like he often does when I've been away. I think it's his way of making sure I'm still in one piece." "He's very fond of you, isn't he?" "Marino's been in love with me for about the last twenty years," Kay replied almost sadly. "No matter how many other women he goes to bed with in the meantime, he can't quite get me out of his system, which makes him alternately protective and angry with me on a regular basis. But he wouldn't be quite the same Marino if he wasn't." "John was a little bit like that in all the years we weren't together," George told her as she pulled into the Heathrow car park. "It means that they always seem to pop up just when you need them, doesn't it." "Usually," Kay admitted with a smile. Then, turning serious, she said, "I think you ought to take advantage of how much John will want to be there for you." "Don't," George said a little tightly. "Because telling John, telling anyone isn't something I can even contemplate at the moment." "You told me," Kay pointed out quietly as George switched off the engine. "You were acting purely professional at the time," George informed her. "Which made it an awful lot easier." "Just don't leave it till the last minute," Kay tried to persuade her. "Because you're about to need as many people as possible to help you get through it." 

When they'd gone through check in and they finally reached the barrier where George had to leave, she gave Kay a slightly rueful smile and said, "Don't forget to dismantle your gun, or I'll be trying to get you out of a cell on a charge of suspected terrorism." Kay laughed. "I almost did once, when I went to New York, where carrying guns also isn't permitted. I'll take it apart just before I go through customs and passport control. They can't quibble about it being in pieces in my briefcase, not with Frank's letter to back me up." They both knew that they were putting off the inevitable, but both women found that they didn't want to end the beginning of what may prove to be a very close friendship. As they stood facing each other, neither of them quite knowing what to say, George took the initiative. Putting her arms round Kay in an unexpected show of affection, she said, "Promise me to take care of yourself, because I don't ever want to read about your untimely death in the newspaper." "Only as long as you promise me to go to that appointment," Kay said with just as much feeling, her arms going round George of their own accord. "Because I don't ever want to have to see you on one of my slabs." Both sentiments were meant with the utmost seriousness, because they each had a threat of death hanging over them in one way or another, something that irrevocably seemed to bind their friendship into something long and lasting. When Kay eventually turned and walked away, George watched her, wondering just when she would see this incredibly talented and complicated woman again. 


	110. Chapter 110

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Ten

On the Monday evening, John got into his car, and drove towards the clinic where Helen worked in Paddington. He hadn't had an appointment with her since before Christmas, as she had been almost overrun with patients in January and early February. She had explained to him that Christmas often caused such a deluge in the need for counselling and psychological services, and that as he wasn't anything like an emergency, could he possibly wait a while before seeing her. As John was busy with the run up to Barbara's trial, plus other cases that were demanding his attention, he was more than willing to put off the next onslaught to his mental and emotional capabilities. But now here he was, only three days after the end of Barbara's trial, heading towards that sanctum of unveiling that he alternately dreaded and craved. He knew that he often found Helen's probing to be more than invasive, but he also knew that it was doing him good. Well, it had been, until he'd screwed it up so spectacularly with Connie Beauchamp. He would almost certainly have to talk to Helen about that, he thought, as he reminded himself that she already knew about it. He inwardly squirmed as he thought of how he would go about justifying himself on this point, because he knew that she would want to know his precise reasoning for doing something quite so stupid. 

"Well, Judge, it's been a while," Helen said as they took their usual places inside her consulting room. "How're you doing?" The question was innocuous in itself, but that didn't mean John found it simple to answer. "Erm," He hesitated, unable to find even a remotely satisfactory response. "That good then?" Helen said with half a smile. "I think that I managed to get used to the break from emotional battering," He finally replied. "And I suppose that part of me isn't looking forward to its resumption." "That's understandable," Helen said with perfect calm, not in the slightest taking John's assessment of his feelings as any kind of insult. "But I'm assuming that as you're here, you did want to come back." "I think it's fairly safe to say that I needed to come back," He said evasively, his thoughts immediately straying to Connie. "Okay," Helen said noncommittally, not as yet betraying her knowledge of what had happened with Connie. "How did you feel, having to oversee Barbara's trial?" "Oh, you mean apart from having to chastise certain members of the public gallery?" He quipped with a smile. "I've got a bigger mouth than George when necessary," Helen said with a grin of her own. "How else do you think I survived so long as a wing governor?" "I didn't have to preside over Barbara's trial," John found himself telling her. "Ian Rochester wanted to have a change of venue, purely so that I wouldn't be able to keep things vaguely within my control. But I couldn't allow that to happen." "Why?" Helen's question was almost insignificant in the way she had asked it, but for John, it symbolised the admission to something he had forced out of his mind a long time ago. 

"I wanted her to have a completely fair trial," John replied after a moment's thought, this seeming to be one of his all time mottos. "I thought, perhaps in a moment of arrogance, that at least I couldn't be leaned on by the establishment, if it should be decided that they wanted a particular verdict or sentence for her. Ian Rochester and his snivelling little lackey, learnt a long time ago that I can't be leaned onto do their bidding, though they still do their utmost to try. To give the prosecution their due, and because I knew of her previous conviction, I really didn't know whether or not Barbara had killed her husband. So, it was my duty to give her and her witnesses a fair hearing. I agreed to Monty sitting on the bench with me, purely because I do know Barbara, and so does he, and we both thought it would be advisable for me to have a sounding board when necessary." "What was it like, having Jo and George working together?" "Bizarre, at first," John said with a smile. "If I'm honest, I never thought it would work. The way they go about assembling a case is so different from each other, that I really couldn't conceive of them managing to put aside their differences long enough to succeed. They might be extremely happy with the relationship we have, but that doesn't usually make them agree when it comes to the law and the practicing of it. But they couldn't have made a more successful team. It made me immensely proud to watch them together. They both put every ounce of their knowledge, determination and skill into mounting Barbara's defence, and if it hadn't been for the seriousness of the circumstances, it would have been a sincere pleasure to watch them from start to finish. Jo found this case very difficult, because of the memories and feelings of inadequacy that it resurrected for her, but George stood by her every step of the way, taking over where necessary, and giving Jo more support than I suspect I ever could have done. Three years ago, such level of kindness and generosity from George would have been virtually unimaginable where Jo was concerned." 

"You know," Helen said thoughtfully. "I saw the look of relief on your face when the jury found Barbara not guilty. I think everyone did. You were dreading having to sentence her, weren't you." "Of course I was," John said a little bitterly. "Whilst I might have started out that case with a fairly open mind, I reached the conclusion that she could never have killed him, long before the end. I think it was first Barbara herself, and then their three medical experts who had me convinced. I discussed all this with Monty, whilst we were all waiting for the verdict. He was just as uncomfortable with the thought of sentencing her as I was. No matter what our usual professions might have been," John continued, with an almost reverent look on his face. "That performance of 'The Creation' really brought us all together. In the end, it hadn't mattered who was a barrister, or who an ex-prisoner. Well, not to most people anyway. We were all just one group of people who wanted to make beautiful music together. Barbara was one of us, sitting there, rehearsal after rehearsal, playing the harpsichord as well as any of us played our own instruments. Making music, especially such beautiful music as Haydn's 'Creation', it does something to everyone involved, giving us a feeling of completeness that can never be entirely broken." Helen almost felt jealous of the players of that orchestra as he said this, sounding so sincere in the feeling of togetherness the performance had given them. "So, when I was faced with the prospect of possibly having to sentence Barbara to life imprisonment, I almost wished I hadn't been so eager to take on the trial in the first place." 

"You were regretting an action that was taken on the spur of the moment?" "Possibly," John admitted, though he immediately tried to justify his actions. "Whatever my feelings, whatever my misgivings, it was the right thing to do, for Barbara and for old-fashioned justice if nothing else. So yes, whilst it was without doubt very difficult at times, I can't seriously say that I regret taking on her trial." 

"And what about Connie," Helen asked without any warning whatsoever. "Do you regret what happened with her?" "I wondered how long it would take you," John said with a slightly long-suffering smile. "One thing you need to learn about women, Judge," Helen told him seriously. "Is that we talk. You think the old boys' network is bad? Well, believe me, it's got nothing on the old girls' network. Women need to talk, to cry, to share the things that either please or upset them, to keep them sane and able to deal with the situations men throw us into every single day." "Yes, so I see," John said a little dryly. "Why did you sleep with her?" Helen asked quietly, coming straight to the point. "Because I wanted to," He answered her just as simply. "The aura coming off her was practically electric," He tried to explain. "She was, is, beautiful, sensationally sexy, and I could feel the old pull of the conquest like a magnet. When I summoned her to my chambers, she challenged me, and I've never been able to resist a challenge in my life." "So," Helen said, really feeling his craving for the conquering of a beautiful woman. "How did George find out about it?" Helen didn't in actual fact need to ask this, as George had explained in every lurid detail on the afternoon after Sylvia's debacle in court, but she wanted John's interpretation of it. "Ah," John replied, looking extremely uncomfortable. "She, erm, she walked in on us. Believe me, being discovered in post-coital afterglow is not something to be recommended." "What did she do?" Helen asked quietly, George having left this part out of her explanation. "She stood there stunned for a few minutes, just staring at us, a time in which I felt like the most loathsome individual on the planet." As he watched Helen for her reaction, he caught sight of something in her gaze, a knowledge of something he wanted to know. "You're thinking something," He commented quietly. "Something that tells me that you agree with how I felt." "I'm not here to pass judgment," Helen said without a flicker. "That doesn't mean you're not," John observed dryly. "When George told us why she'd ripped so spectacularly into Connie on the Wednesday morning, she said that when she walked in on you, all she could think about was how beautiful Connie was, and just how good you looked together." "I think that's what hurt her more than the infidelity itself," John said regretfully. "We attempted to talk it out on the Friday evening, and I ended up making the situation worse, not better. George said that she needed to understand why I'd done it, why I'd betrayed both her and Jo, when she thought I was happy with what I had, which I am. So, I told her, giving her far too many details for her to handle. It was without doubt cruel of me to do that, and I sincerely wish I hadn't. But then I wish that about the whole fiasco with Connie, not just its actual results. When Connie had gone, I attempted to apologise, which seemed to spur George into action. She was furious, as she had every right to be, but by the Friday evening, she'd calmed down a bit, turning up at my door feeling sad rather than angry. I wish George wasn't so used to my infidelity, but she is, something I will always regret." 

"If you regret it that much," Helen asked, trying to keep any hint of an opinion out of her tone. "Why do you still do it? Why do you keep on sleeping with women who are, let's face it, of absolutely no consequence to you, when you have two beautiful, loving, supportive women, who would give you everything you wanted if you only asked?" "I wish I knew," John told her, feeling the guilt at what he had done forcefully rising up in him. "It sounds pathetic, but I really don't know what made me sleep with Connie, except for the fact that she presented me with the challenge that I wouldn't be able to satisfy her. I'm not trying to excuse what I did, but perhaps to explain it." "What about your assignation with Connie, makes you feel the most guilt?" "George is currently hiding something from me," He surprised her by saying. "Something enormous that she is struggling to deal with, something that I can't help her with because I don't know about it. I probably couldn't have slept with Connie at a worse time, because I know that both Jo and George need me in their different ways. Jo is frightening herself stupid because she got drunk at least once in the middle of Barbara's trial, and George is terrified of something that is slowly eating her up from the inside." If John had known just how accurate a description he had given of George's behaviour, he would have been out of that office and on his way to find her without delay. "At first," He continued, finding it somehow easier to talk to Helen than at all his previous sessions. "I wondered if she was pregnant." "Why, do you think she would keep it from you if she was?" Helen asked gently, seeing that this was clearly a difficult topic for John to address. "George knows that she couldn't go through motherhood a second time, and she also knows that it would crucify me to know that my prospective child had been aborted. Therefore, if she was pregnant, I can say with absolute certainty that she would have a termination without even telling me that it had existed." 

"What makes you so sure that George would know how you might feel in that situation?" Helen asked, her question hitting John with all the accuracy of a bull's-eye. John was very quiet for a time, trying to sort out his thoughts, trying to submerge the more painful ones so that he didn't entirely give way in front of this woman whom he had far too much respect for. When he rose to his feet and moved over to the window, Helen realised that something painful was on its way. John always did this, turning his back to her when he had something particularly difficult to say to her. "Nearly twenty years ago," He eventually began, his voice containing an awful lot of barely suppressed pain. "When I first met Jo, she was still caring for a terminally ill husband, which is why she has found Barbara's case so difficult. She also had two very young children. I think she found the occasional afternoons with me something of a reprieve, an escape, a haven in which she could retreat from all her responsibilities. At the time, I was going through my divorce from George, and was gradually getting used to living on my own with a seven-year-old Charlie. When Jo discovered that she was pregnant, it was something of a catastrophe for both of us. I left the decision almost entirely up to Jo, believing in my naivety that any opinion I might have would only confuse the issue, and put her under further pressure that she certainly didn't need. When she decided that the only option open to her was to have a termination, I had to support her. She barely looked at me when I drove her to the clinic, and when I drove her home afterwards, she told me that it had been a boy. She was just over four months when she had the termination, which was why they could tell it was a boy. For so many years, I think Jo blamed me for not fighting hard enough for her to keep it." He might have had his back to her, but the slight tremble in his shoulders betrayed the fact that he was crying, and desperately trying to keep all knowledge of it from her. Seeing that he was entirely lost in his painful memories of the past, Helen got up from her chair and moved softly over to him. His hands were resting on the windowsill, and when she laid one of hers over his, he turned his agonised gaze on her, the tears running down his cheeks. "You can't blame yourself for every event that might have gone wrong in your life, John," She told him gently. "Because the more you allow it to fester, the more corrosive and damaging it will become. Jo's still here, she's still with you, and that doesn't strike me as something she would do if she didn't still love you. You've got so much guilt inside you, about Jo and about George, and by being there, it isn't helping you to stop picking up stray women with good legs, who use their silver, forked tongue on you like a particularly devious snake. We'll keep talking about this next time, and for as many sessions after that as it takes, because I think the route of half your problem stems from all the guilt you've got cloistered away up here," She said, gesturing to his forehead. "I'm sorry," He said, digging in his pockets for a handkerchief and feeling extremely vulnerable under her kind and watchful gaze. "Don't be," She said quietly. "You need to grieve for a lot of things in your life, and Jo's baby is only one of them." 


	111. Chapter 111

Part One Hundred and Eleven 

On the Monday after Barbara was freed on the Friday, Karen came to work with a sinking feeling. It centred on Sylvia. She had prevailed on Frances Myers, wing governor of D wing, to take on Sylvia until the end of Barbara's trial. She had argued loudly and all too reasonably that why should she take on a total reject from another wing, and especially Sylvia? Frances had solidly hammered her team together with her own drive and determination and was justly proud of the fruits of her hard work. Karen had patiently reasoned with the rather fiery Frances who had finally given way. Now that the trial was over, Karen felt compelled to transfer Sylvia back. The problem was that Nikki, as a new wing governor, had carried Sylvia on her overloaded shoulders and Sylvia had been disgraced herself to all and sundry, including Helen. Nikki hadn't been there at the time, but it was certain that her sharp ears would have heard every detail of what had gone on. After her third cigarette had been stubbed out into her ashtray, her mind was made up. She had to call a meeting of the two wing governors, and thrash the whole matter out. Quite what she was going to say to them both, God only knew.

She decided to move the chairs around, and group them in a circle with a coffee table at the side for drinks. She could do with every prop she could lay her hands on, to take the edge off any confrontation.

"It's not every day we get a chance to meet up." Frances said jovially enough to Nikki.  
Nikki's smile was wan and her reply common place enough, as they entered the room together. She knew exactly what was in store for them and, already she was getting tense.

"Come in, both of you and take a seat." Karen offered with what sounded, to her hypersensitive ears, as forced cheerfulness." Do you want a drink?" she offered.  
"A cup of tea please, Karen." Nikki said politely. What seemed like a lifetime of working in clubs paradoxically impelled her to restrict daytime drinking to the minimum. On Frances' following suit, Karen raised her eyebrow, and asked her secretary to assist. Personally, she would have preferred something stronger.  
"I thought I'd call you both in to discuss the matter of what's going to happen to Sylvia Hollamby." "I would have thought that's obvious." Frances replied with lightning speed ahead of the other two." She clears out her locker and moves back to G wing as soon as"  
"Hold on a minute, Frances, let's not rush matters. How do you feel about the matter, Nikki"  
Nikki's mouth was dry and she hesitated for the whirling mass of words in her head to assume a coherent shape.  
"It's no secret that conflict between Sylvia and I goes back a long way. When I took on this job, I knew very well what I was taking on and just about managed to stomach her. I had her and Di Barker to deal with for my first five months till Di got the push and another month later, last December, Sylvia was taken off my hands. It has been total bliss since then to have that woman out of my hair and a wing full of decent prison officers. I know just how much I've been putting up with the day I saw the back of the pair of them. I really don't know how I'm going to deal with her being back again, especially with the way she messed up at Barbara's trial."

"Nikki, you're sometimes too polite. Sylvia's a bigoted witch who has been allowed to get away with murder for years. She's prejudiced against every minority that you care to name. It's only her stupidity and her cowardice that kept her within limits."

Karen felt impatient with Frances's remarks, and frowned at her. It was obvious to her that Nikki had been making an effort to restrain herself. Frances was stating the obvious very simplistically and it provoked Nikki to speak her mind.

"Of course, the solution is obvious. I inherited her in the first place, so I take her back. She was taken off my wing when it came out that she would be a hostile witness at Barbara's trial. Now that Barbara got her freedom, the necessity of her being off the wing has ended. Therefore sensible Nikki will do the reasonable thing, and take her back on G wing. The only thing is that it doesn't feel right for me. I tell you straight out that I heard about every word that that evil, twisted woman said. I cannot stomach the presence of that woman back on my wing when my instinct is to throttle her. On top of that, I'm expected to be the responsible wing governor and get everyone to leave her alone when Bodybag simply doesn't deserve it. There are limits to what I will take on. I know only too well that I'm backing out on the deal I made. This goes against the grain. I'm making this one big exception because of the way that she mouthed off in court. If I take her back, I swear that I'll swing for her"  
"I would expect to hear an ex con talking that way, but not one of my wing governors, Nikki. Just think exactly of what you're saying." Karen cut in sharply with a warning. The force of Karen's reprimand totally scrambled the other woman's emotions for a minute as she struggled for reflection. Unlike previous scoldings down the years, Nikki's head engaged with the content of it, and she had to admit the justice of the remarks. Feelings of remorse damped down that outbreak of blind anger. Karen deserved to be treated better by her. In those few seconds, she became a wing governor once again. Frances said nothing, as she didn't know what to say. She had felt Nikki's anger boil over and, for a hard woman, it made her feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. She had come up against every variation of 'hard man' talk in the met, both the villains she'd nailed and her fellow policemen, and had learnt to discount and despise it as so much cheap talk, but Nikki's outburst was different.

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke, Karen. I was out of order." Nikki murmured, her eyes downcast. "Thanks, Nikki." Came her heartfelt reaction. The situation was knife-edged and Karen thanked God that no one could see her own vulnerabilities, which she felt prickled up all over her skin. "Hang on a minute, just how old is Sylvia?" Frances's voice broke out of the silence as she sought to make up for her earlier insensitivity and try and be constructive.  
"Her date of birth is July 14th 1946 and her sixtieth birthday is the fourteenth of July this year." Rattled out Karen, without a blink.  
"How do you know that one, Karen?" Nikki asked in amazement.  
"Because I have been counting down the years as to when she draws her state pension, and prison service pension and can piss off and bully and harass her next door neighbours as a full time occupation." Replied Karen dryly.  
"That's the answer to our prayers……" began Nikki.  
"Hold on a minute, Nikki. She doesn't have to retire at sixty. She could work up to sixty five if she wants to"  
"You can't be serious, Karen?" Nikki's face was a picture of horror, contrasting with her previous expression of dawning inspiration. Not for the first time, she wished that she had the power to simply give her the sack as she had done to barmaids who had incurred her displeasure. She cooled down as she realised that these rules and regulations served equally to protect the innocent victim of bullying from above as much as the crafty malingerer who knew how to 'play the system.' She knew only too well that, if Sylvia had one talent, she had that knack of self-preservation.  
"I'm afraid so, Nikki. Of course, she has to keep herself up to scratch. Both of you will, of course, have your round of annual appraisals to do this April and whoever gets to interview her might find that a useful time to sound out her intentions." Nikki looked at her feet. She could sense the way the conversation was drifting and half of her could see the logic of it but still her obstinate will resisted it. "Look at this way, Nikki. You remember Helen's time as wing governor better than I did. The picture I get was that Sylvia and Fenner ruled the roost and Fenner had a hotline to Stubberfield who always took his side in any difference with Helen. She was caught between two sides and had a hell of a time. It's a wonder she lasted as long as she did. You have so many advantages over her. You've got my support, the other wing governors, and prisoners and officers alike. All the cards are in your hand if you care to play them"  
"I can help you out, Nikki, in nailing any lies that Sylvia may come up about how different and better my wing is. She's bound to do it to use something against you. We can get in there first"  
"You know that my door is open at any time, Nikki. You should remember that you don't have to carry all the world on your shoulders"  
The voices had been flowing round her, over her head, unseen and something that she felt only halfway part of. It was only when Nikki looked up, she saw the faces of the two women, smiling kindly at her. She started to feel less alone, and that feeling of panic started to subside within her.

"If you feel that you can take her on again, you have every right to tell her to keep a low profile, to pull her weight and to turn over a new leaf. For a start, this is the last time that Sylvia is ever allowed to give evidence in court. Two high court judges have told her never to set foot in court if you need any backing. You would have every reason to tell her that, and that she'd be marked down on that at her appraisal. You would have the unenviable job of keeping everyone off her back but you would be in a position to force a lot of concessions from her. She would have to dance to your tune. At the same time, you would have to hold out something positive to her that if she changed her act, she would eventually get her reward once she got people's trust. I am asking you to take her back on. I ask you to believe me that, difficult though it might be, it is impossible only if you make it so inside your own head"  
"I must have a bit of a walk round, Karen, while I get my head round this one"  
"Whatever you need to do, Nikki"  
The two other women watched with intense sympathy as Nikki reached for her cigarette packet and paced around the room. She moved with fast, almost jerky movements as she smoked. In a few minutes, Karen was delighted to see that Nikki's physical movements started to become more relaxed as she fought for control of the situation. Suddenly, she took a sharp turn and dropped back in her chair.  
"OK, you win. When do I take her back"  
"Next week, if you want it"  
"Make it now. I'd sooner not sit around stewing. I'd sooner do it now while I'm good and ready for her." Nikki replied abruptly.  
"Whatever you say."

"Come in, Sylvia." Nikki said to the other woman who peered round in a suspicious fashion. All she knew was that Madam wanted to have a word with her and was told to report to the woman whom she hated more than any other. She had got more or less used to that jackbooted Frances Myers. At least she wasn't an ex con.

"I'm here to tell you that, as of now, you are transferred back to G wing and will be working under me. As you will remember, you were only transferred off my wing until Barbara's trial was over when you were known to be a hostile witness at the trial. The move was designed to ensure your own safety."

"If it's all the same to you, miss, I would sooner stop where I am. My seniority and experience is more appreciated where I am." Came the sulky reply.

"Sylvia, it is not all the same to me," Nikki answered in a harder tone instead of correct efficiency." You time has come up to return here. You don't have the choice on this one."

"Don't I get any rights? The way you put it, I've just been shunted from pillar to post like in a game of pass the parcel. All this when I was just starting to get used to a new wing. At my age in life, I don't find it easy to deal with constant change."

"No Sylvia, you don't get any rights on this one, not after I've gone through the conditions of service handbook from cover so it's no use complaining to your General Secretary. Right is on my side." Shot back Nikki in steely determined tones before pausing to resume in a gentler, more persuasive manner.  
"I won't pretend that it will be easy for you to come back as your conduct at the trial hasn't done much to endear yourself to your fellow officers and prisoners, or come to think of it, me. I'm here to ensure that you return on terms that will work out best for everyone. I shall call a meeting on the wing and I'll insist that you be accepted back onto the wing with good behaviour on all sides. Needless to say, this applies to you. Before I announce this to the wing, I demand assurances from you that you behave yourself in a professional fashion. That way, I don't have a riot on my hands. You stick to your side of the deal and you'll undo some of the damage that you'll have done to your reputation ready for your appraisal with me this April"  
Nikki's casually uttered final words brought Sylvia up short. Memories of fractious appraisals with Madam contrasted with the way that Mr Stubberfield treated her so kindly and generously. She was sure that she would have no mercy from the woman whom she remembered only a few years ago, she was accustomed to lock up in a cell at nights. The years seemed to fly by and none of them got any better.  
"Is that a deal, Sylvia?" Prompted Nikki with a hard edge in her voice.  
"Seems as if I have no choice"  
"You're right. You don't."

"There's something going down here, Ju. I could have sworn I saw Old Bodybag sneaking in to the wing but she ran away without so much as glaring at us. She couldn't be coming back here"  
"No, Ju. You must have been imagining things. Next thing you're going to say is that you've seen Fenner on the wing"  
Julie Johnson visibly shuddered at the very idea and of the very bad memories it conjured up. She carried on at the servery, cooking sausages for the communal breakfast.

"Can I have your attention?" Nikki called out, in her carrying voice from the top of the staircase to the 'two's.' She looked down at a sea of faces below her who looked on expectantly at Nikki and wondering what development was in store. "I wouldn't normally announce the arrival of an extra Prison Officer to the wing, as I would sooner let that person find their feet in the normal way. I am making an exception here, as the prison officer is Sylvia Hollamby who is no stranger to G Wing. I ought to make it quite clear……" Nikki continued raising her voice to carry over the intensity of murmurs of suppressed anger that rippled round the wing. The expression of distorted rage on Denny's face and self-satisfied contempt on Natalie Buxton's face caused Nikki's gaze to flicker and her voice to hesitate before she found her nerve to plunge on.  
"…..that my interest is as always, that everyone should be treated fairly on the wing and justly and that there is good order."

"So why was she booted off the wing, Nikki?" Denny interrupted.

"It's no secret that there has been a history of ill feeling between Barbara and Mrs Hollamby. When it came to my ears that Mrs Hollamby was going to appear in court as a hostile witness, I decided to separate them to prevent any trouble……" "What sort of trouble do you mean, miss?" Natalie interrupted with the most misleadingly innocent expression on her face that roused Nikki's anger.  
"You work that out, Natalie. Everyone else can join up the dots for themselves." Nikki retorted to a general laugh at Natalie's expense. "I was above all, concerned that Barbara would be in the best frame of mind to take the stand. I know the strength of feeling over Barbara's case and I went to court to give character evidence in support of her. For this reason I did not want Mrs Hollamby to be at the centre of any trouble, both for her sake and everyone else's…."

"What would you have done if Babs had been sent down, Nikki"  
"I don't even want to think about that one, Julie." Nikki's voice rang out, electric charged with emotion. Her eyes were closed. That was the first time the question had crossed her mind.  
"I'm sorry, Nikki." Julie Saunders murmured.

"Now that Barbara Mills, thank God, has got the freedom that a court of law rightly decided upon, that removes the main obstacle to Sylvia coming back on the wing. I expect every officer on my wing to act in a proper, professional manner. Sylvia Hollamby understands that and she returns to G wing to take up her duties today with a clean slate. I want no settling of old scores on anyone's side and I also want Mrs Hollamby to settle in comfortably as just another prison officer on the wing. For these reasons, I am asking for good will on all sides. Are there any questions?" There was a general murmur of dissatisfaction round the wing but no one could put into words the gutroot opposition to Nikki's persuasive reasoning. Nikki felt the emotion cut through like a knife and, white faced, she turned on her heel and dived back to her office for a much-needed cigarette. Despite her best efforts, she felt that she had failed in her purpose.

Bodybag had stood to one side and slightly behind Nikki and smiled vacuously all around her. She let Nikki do all the speaking with the determination that Nikki would take the heat. At the back of her mind was a secret sly determination that she would do what she wanted if she got half a chance. She thought that Wade was only another version of Madam and also Stewart, prisoner's friend to the last. No one bothered about her feelings about doing her duty and speaking her mind about Mills. She didn't want to come back to G Wing anyway. She might make all sorts of promises to Wade but what she was going to do was something different. The problem was that Wade had infected all the other officers with her attitude. She slunk off to the PO room to have a mug of tea, her only creature comfort besides her chocolate cream cakes.

"Nice try, Nikki but you got to be joking to think that everyone's going to smile at each other and be friends. I ain't forgotten the way she's behaved over the years"  
"A tiger doesn't change his spots and old Bodybag don't become Sylvia just because even Nikki calls her that, Ju." Julie Saunders chorused in return.  
"What the hell's happened to Nikki?" Denny asked. She felt bitterly let down and resentful.  
"What do we do then, Ju"  
"Wait and see and watch." Julie Saunders concluded for all of them. 


	112. Chapter 112

Part One Hundred and Twelve

Life changes and people change with life, John mused, as he studied the letter in his hand, which had cordially invited him to lecture at the judge's seminar at Warwick. He had utterly immersed himself in Barbara Mills trial and over the weekend and had basked in the pure relief that he and Monty had not had to deal with a guilty verdict. Still feeling good about himself, he had been promptly plunged into the psychological centrifuge of the therapy session. Helen had severely disorientated him by praising the good he had done at the trial and had gone on to awake far too many unpleasant feelings about himself than he could safely deal with. Now, he was going to be taken away from the normal constraints of his life into the sea of possibilities that lecturing away from home offered up. The familiar and habitual feelings of excitement started to well up in him as it had, so many times before.

A swirl of memories floated dreamily past his mind's eye as he held the piece of paper in his hand and he stared into the distance. Conferences and lecturing away from home both held the same illicit pleasures that only those who took part in them knew ever existed. It was the chance of extra curricular activities that provided half the attraction. Inside the conference hall or the lecture theatre, he earnestly dedicated himself to the task in hand at least as much as anyone but outside the allotted hours, all sort of delicious temptations opened up to those gifted with the arts of sexual attractiveness. The beauty of these occasions away from home, he had judicially concluded, was that it satisfied both sides of his personality, the public and the private. Yes, he remembered that charming French judge who Monty Everard was boring to death until one glance from his appealing blue eyes ensnared her so that they sneaked off from the convivial, drinks laden party to her bedroom. That memory and other memories started to make him feel good about himself and his lips curved as his eyes looked inwards.

Suddenly, his senses were assaulted by the dark memory of last October's Howard League for Penal Reform's annual conference. He had acted no differently that time, except that he had slept with Karen who was also his friend and got far more than he bargained for. He shuddered at the memory. If there was any one event in his life that caused him to abandon his pride and seek therapy, finally stripped of all mental reservations and get out clauses, this was it. And yet he was proposing to revisit that area of his existence, which had brought him so much pleasure and yet proved to be his total undoing. "Why do you keep on sleeping with women who are, let's face it, of absolutely no consequence to you, when you have two beautiful, loving, supportive women, who would give you everything you wanted if you only asked?" Helen's direct words and intense stare jumped into his mind and brought him up short. It served notice on him that he could no longer coast through life on old habits but that intense scrutiny for the truth must needs be turned inwards on himself, both in therapy and outside it. It forced him uncharacteristically to think of those who were closest to him at the point when duty would shortly separate himself from them. Once that thought was planted in his mind, his attention inevitably zeroed in on George. He knew enough to know that he had good reason to worry about George but not enough to know what it was about. Inspiration came to him to seek out Jo and try and find the answer. Uncharacteristically, he threw together the contents of his suitcase in rapid order and set out in his car to find out the truth if he possibly could.

The doorbell rang at Jo's flat and she was surprised to see a slightly disheveled John outside. It was unlike him to not phone her up first but she let John in.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Jo queried.  
"Part business, part pleasure." John answered shortly in a distracted fashion. "I'm going on my periodic pilgrimage to Warwick to infect the up and coming judges of tomorrow with my hopelessly liberal ideas. I wonder why they let me loose there"  
"In the eyes of Sir Ian, it is probably the lesser of two evils. You can't be a standing menace to them in two places at the same time. If he doesn't send you to Warwick, you'll get your hands on a trial he wants a 'safe pair of hands' to handle." Jo commented with a dry smile. She hesitated for a minute as John made no reply and added, more statement than question with a soft smile on her face.  
"You didn't come to see me just about you going to Warwick, did you"  
John sighed, removed his overcoat and slumped into a sofa. "You're right, I didn't. I wanted to talk to you about George. I'm worried about her"  
Jo pricked up her ears at the terseness in his tone.  
"What's the problem, John"  
"The worst thing is that I don't know. I went to see her last Friday and she's not her normal self. She seemed tired and worn out and there's something preying on her mind"  
"I've not noticed anything." Jo interrupted hastily and defensively. Ingrained in her was the expectation that she would pick up on the subtle nuances of speech and mannerism. She might think that this quality was necessary as a barrister, both in dealing with a client who is less than forthcoming and in cross examination in court. The reality was that she subscribed unthinkingly to the particular form of feminine pride that a woman should be especially well versed in picking up on these nuances and knowing details of human life around her. It irked her that the person concerned should be George, of all people whom she was especially close to. John smiled in that open handed way to excuse Jo's ignorance, which only served to wind her up. She knew that look. Eventually, he sorted out the words to say in his mind. It was a severely edited highlight of the conversation but it was as accurate as far as it went.  
"My precise words to her were that I just wished that she would talk to me and the answer was and I quote 'I can't, not yet, anyway.' Now I wanted to ask you what on earth it might mean because blessed if I know. I just thought you might be able to shed some light on a matter which is totally beyond me"  
"Did she say anything else"  
"Only that she wasn't pregnant. I didn't wish to pursue the matter any further"  
Jo's look of intense concentration revealed her attempt to fathom the puzzle. Her starting point was the same as John's but she gave up in despair.  
"I can't help you on this, John." She admitted frankly." Quite frankly, George has been the strong one throughout the trial, especially when it has got to me on occasions and I've tended to wind down a bit too much with a drink or three"  
John looked sharply at Jo's suspicious euphemism. He remembered the time when Jo had visited him at his digs and Jo had knocked back a succession of large whiskies in between denouncing him furiously over the conduct of the Jason Powell hearing. In contrast, he had never had the need to drink in excess any more than he had followed the teenage lemming tendency to smoke cigarettes to assert his identity. "Can you keep an eye on George while I'm away, Jo. It would ease my mind to know that both of you, who are most dear to me, will be taken care of"  
The words tumbled out of John's mouth as the idea first hit him. It was the first time that it had occurred to him to think of his responsibilities while he was away.  
"Of course, John." Jo answered softly, a soft glow in her eyes. She was touched by John's totally disinterested concern for George." I can't promise that I'll get anywhere but if I can get to the bottom of this puzzle, I will."

Hours later, Jo lay on her back with John in the heat of sexual passion in her dimly lit bedroom. Even as John was inside her, gradually taking her up to the climax that she knew would come, there was different feel about the way that he made love with her. If she could see clearly enough, she was sure she could see a real tenderness in his eyes. Of course, he was the most expert male lover she could think of but this was apt to be a camouflage behind which he could hide his feelings for her. Her fingertips ruffled his hair and delicately traced a pattern down his back. She knew that tomorrow, he would be gone but she was surer of his presence around her than she used to be, even with that silver tongue that could lay on the courtly compliments with a trowel. All this evening, he had said nothing about not straying off the straight and narrow as he had done in the past but, by some instinct, she never pressed the point. She didn't need to. Tonight was different and she knew that wherever George was, that she felt the same. Her tongue slid inside John's in a delicious coming together of the two of them. It did not exclude the third or why else would John have been so concerned about her as Jo was also? 


	113. Chapter 113

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Thirteen

On the Wednesday night, after John had left for the Judges' seminar in Warwick, George knew that it was time to start facing up to the fact that she had an appointment with a surgeon the next day, an appointment that would put all sorts of things into action. But she couldn't go to the hospital and see Ric Griffin on her own, she knew that. She might be the barrister with the legendary temper, who could cut lower mortals down to size in a matter of seconds, but that didn't mean that her courage was strong enough to face this demon on her own. Ordinarily, she would have told Jo, and asked Jo to go with her, but not for something like this. Going to tell Jo was going to be difficult enough as it was, which wasn't something George felt she could deal with right now. So, a firm, sincere friend was called for. Karen therefore was whom she had chosen to accompany her, if she would, and George didn't think she was likely to say no to such a thing. As she drove over to Karen's flat on the Wednesday evening, she wondered what Karen's reaction would be to her news. George knew that Karen too would probably want to see her lump, as she had almost certainly seen similar things in her time of nursing. George was also aware that if Karen found out about how long she'd had the lump, she would very likely go ballistic. Karen wasn't usually one to restrain her feelings, and with this knowledge they would surely erupt in her face. 

When Karen opened her door to see George standing there, she could see in her face that what she was here for was something at the very least worrying. "Come in," Karen said, wanting to try and put George at her ease. "How are things?" She said as she led the way back to the sitting room, which was long and comfortable. "That's what I've come to see you about," George said a little hesitantly. Laying a hand on her shoulder and thoroughly scrutinising her, Karen didn't like what she saw. George looked tired, thinner, and exceedingly nervous. "You look as though you could do with a drink," Karen said instead of voicing any of her observations. George smiled a little tentatively. "Yes, a large drink might just help." Karen wanted to cuddle her, to hold her as she did for all those months, to try to take away some of the pain that was obviously getting to her. Pouring herself a Scotch and George a large Martini, Karen gestured towards the sofa. "Sit down," She said, handing George the glass. "And tell me why you look like a rabbit caught in the headlights." Taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa to Karen, George took a healthy swig of her drink and took and lit one of Karen's cigarettes that were on the coffee table. "I've got something to tell you, and something to ask you," She began carefully. "I don't especially want to tell anyone, but I know that if I'm forced to go on my own, I probably won't. So, here I am, asking you, because I know you'll make me go if it's the last thing you do." "Sweetheart, you're rambling," Karen told her affectionately. "Where is it that you need me to go with you?" "Hospital," George replied, seeing this as the quickest way to an end. The word hung in the air between them, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I, erm," George continued hesitantly, still afraid of actually putting it into words. "I have a lump in my breast." Karen sat absolutely stunned for a moment or two, trying to process this piece of terrifying information. No, not George, not the woman she had come to know so intimately last year, not the woman she still loved. Eventually coming out of her stunned introspection, Karen asked, "How long have you had it?" Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the rant she knew was coming, George replied, "I first found it at Christmas." "What?" Karen's exclamation was like a gunshot, hitting George with full force. "Do you have any idea just how much of a risk you've taken?" Karen demanded, the scorching anger not yet diminishing. "George, Christmas was two bloody months ago. Don't you know what happens when you leave things like that to fester? They grow, and expand, until they take over your entire body. George, I've seen people die because they left it too late, because they allowed the fear of what might be to overwhelm them, until it becomes an actuality." As her own words caught up with her, Karen stopped, realising that this was perhaps not the best way to go about reassuring George. But George had simply allowed her to get on with it, to let the anger pour out of her because she knew that Karen was absolutely right. She had been stupid, possibly fatally so, and here she was asking for Karen's help. 

When Karen finally came to the end of her tirade, George looked over to see that she had tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," Karen said a lot more quietly. "It just terrifies me to know that you've had something like that for so long without doing anything about it." "I know," George said, taking Karen's hand in hers. "And I know just how stupid I've been. I just kept putting it off, finding every excuse in the book for not seeking help before now." "Boxing Day," Karen suddenly said with a thought of blinding clarity. "When I was on my way home and you phoned me. You almost told me about it then, didn't you." "Yes," George admitted with a small smile. "I found it that morning, and I phoned you with every intention of telling you, but you might say that my courage completely failed me." "So, who did actually manage to get through to you?" "Kay," George astonished Karen by telling her. "On the Saturday morning in the middle of Barbara's trial, Kay found me in the middle of what I'm assuming was almost a hypoglycaemic faint. I've never been forced to drink something disgustingly sweet before, but I was then, and she wanted to know about any underlying health problem I might have. So, one thing she did do for me, was to make me an appointment with a general surgeon, which is why I've got to go to the hospital tomorrow." "Which hospital?" Karen asked, and when George told her, said, "Well, that's an advantage of private health insurance for you. Who's the surgeon?" "Someone called Ric Griffin, who Kay assures me really is a genius with a scalpel." Karen was staring at her, utterly gobsmacked. "Ric Griffin?" She said, as if not quite believing it. "That's what she said," George replied. "Why?" "If it's the Ric Griffin who's fifty, black, and with a voice that could turn your insides to jelly, then I know him. I worked with him for nearly six years when I was nursing, and got to know him, well, perhaps a little better than I should have." "Well, Kay didn't fill me in as to any of those particular details," George said with a smile. "But I wouldn't have thought there would be too many general surgeons with the same name in the London area." "It sounds unlike him to do private work though," Karen said thoughtfully. "In my day, he was always a martyr to the NHS. If he's still the same man I knew, he's very similar to John, in that his utter dedication to his profession sometimes is his downfall. But you honestly couldn't find anyone better." "Well, let's hope it is your old flame then," George said with a shrug. "Because a genius with a scalpel is what I think I'm going to need." 

They talked for the rest of the evening, both of them consuming a little too much alcohol. It felt as though they hadn't talked like this in far too long, both Barbara's trial and Karen's desperately trying to get over losing her son and losing George as a lover, having put a dampener on their actual friendship. When George eventually asked if she could stay, Karen agreed to it, because she could see that George had drunk far too much to drive, and that she didn't want to be alone tonight. As Karen lent her a nightie and a toothbrush and they both got ready for bed, they were both submerged in their thoughts. But when George eventually joined her under the duvet, they lay there in companionable silence, both remembering earlier, happier times when they'd been this close. 

"I'm assuming that you haven't told either John or Jo about this," Karen said into the darkness. "No, not yet," George said regretfully. "And I'm dreading it." After a moment's thought, Karen asked, "What frightens you most about all this?" George didn't have to think about her reply to this question at all. "If... If they have to take my breast away, I doubt I'll be sexually attractive enough for John anymore. He positively delights in female beauty, and I'm not exactly going to still be a complete woman after surgery like that, am I." Karen could hear the tears in her voice, and it hurt her with almost a physical pain to hear such doubt of John's love in George's voice. Putting her arms out, Karen drew George towards her, seeing that some form of tender comfort was what she really needed right now. "John will always love you," She told her quietly, gently running her hand up and down George's back. "No matter how you look or what happens to you. When he does know about it, which at some point he will have to, he will be as worried and as blatantly terrified as I am, and as Jo will be. You are incredibly special to all three of us, as well as your father, and numerous other people who care a great deal for you. We will all be here to help you through it, because not one, single one of us would dream of letting you go through it alone." "What would I do without you?" George replied, the tears still running down her face. "You'd probably back out of that appointment tomorrow, and make the problem even worse," Karen told her knowingly. "But I'm not going to let that happen." 

As their eyes locked, George could see Karen's love for her shining out of the deep blue orbs, bathing her in its warmth, and reminding her of the months they'd shared last year. She could feel Karen's familiar curves nestling up against her, and she was still cradled within Karen's comforting embrace. Karen wasn't really surprised when George's lips gently covered hers, because she could feel George's intense need to feel something good, something familiar, something she had always been able to rely on. Karen was almost overwhelmed by George's soft, beautiful lips and her warm, delicately probing tongue, and if it hadn't been for the nagging voice of reason reminding her that she had no right to this any more, she would have allowed things to take their natural course. But gently pushing George from her, she said, "George, don't do something now that you will definitely regret in the morning." As though a cold bucket of water had been thrown over her, George stared at Karen in total shock, and then turned completely from her in utter mortification. What on earth had possessed her to do that? This was Karen, not John, not Jo, but Karen, a woman whom she'd hurt so spectacularly only months before. "I'm sorry," George muttered into her pillow. Putting out a hand, Karen gently stroked her shoulder. "George, nothing would give me more pleasure than to make love to you, but it would only serve to make you feel incredibly guilty, which isn't something you need on top of everything else." "I know," George said miserably. "I just... I don't know." "Turn over," Karen encouraged her, and when George did, she said, "Just because we shouldn't make love, doesn't mean I can't give you a cuddle." As they again snuggled close together, George knew that here was a true friend, someone who would always do their best for her, no matter how she tried to fuck it up in the meantime. As George gently drifted into sleep, Karen couldn't help but admire her own restraint, and to simultaneously wonder just what the next day would bring. 


	114. Chapter 114

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fourteen

As they drove to the hospital on the Thursday morning, neither of them knew what to say. All that could possibly be said had been said the night before. But the extreme quiet inside the car was driving George insane. "So," She said into the silence, desperately looking for anything to break the monotony of the traffic in central London. "What's this old flame of yours really like?" "Well, apart from the charm, the gambling habit, and the tendency to end up with more wives and children than he can support, you couldn't find a better surgeon anywhere. Watching him operate," Karen added contemplatively. "It's like giving Brahms or Haydn a scalpel." "Oh, you knew him well then?" George asked, Karen's slightly potted biography of Ric making her smile. "I worked with him on and off for nearly six years, so yes, I suppose you could say I know him quite well. He was a registrar when I first met him, but even in those days you could see that he had a gift that would make him stand out from the others on the career ladder around him. He was always devoutly committed to the NHS though. I suppose the wives, the children and the gambling must have forced him into private practice." "How long is it since you last saw him?" George asked, getting a very brief glimpse into the life Karen had once lived. "It must be fifteen years," Karen said in slight amazement. "Jesus, I was only twenty-six then. Funny how time passes. His eldest daughter was about the same age as Ross." "He might know about Ross, from when it was in the press last year," George put in gently. "I doubt it," Karen said dryly. "The only part of the newspaper Ric ever took any notice of, was the racing pages." 

When they pulled into the car park, all George's barriers of tension seemed to go back up. Switching off the engine, Karen gently took George's hand. "What ever happens," She said slowly. "You will get through it, and you won't be alone." She saw the fleeting moment of blind terror in George's eyes, just for a second betraying how afraid she was. "Thank you, for being here," George said, giving Karen's hand a quick squeeze. As they walked towards the main hospital building, George reflected dryly that this really was private health insurance for you. The grounds were immaculate and utterly breath taking, obviously in an attempt to make the patients feel welcome and relaxed. The receptionist directed them up to the second floor, where they were asked to wait by a pretty woman of a similar age to George, whose slight Liverpool accent seemed almost out of place in the extremely plush surroundings. The discrete name badge on her uniform, proclaimed her to be Staff Nurse Tricia Williams. As they sat in the softly decorated alcove, not far from the nurse's station, Karen reflected that private hospitals never seemed to have that interminable noise and bustle of the NHS. All was quiet around them, with only the occasional wandering to and fro of either a nurse or a doctor from the corridor that Karen assumed led to where the patients were housed. George was sitting rigidly beside her, the thought of her impending appointment making her more nervous by the second. Karen was about to suggest that she go and find them a coffee, when she heard that voice, that wonderfully deep, impetuous, well remembered voice from fifteen years ago. She heard him before she saw him, clearly in the midst of a slight argument with another consultant. George took in the slight smile of recognition on Karen's face, seeing that whatever memories Karen had of this man were fond ones. When Ric turned the corner from the corridor opposite them and walked towards the nurse's station, Karen examined all the familiar lines of his physique, albeit from a distance. He hadn't changed all that much since Karen had seen him last, though there were a few more grey hairs, and an added scattering of lines around his eyes. 

"Alistair, you can't seriously tell me that cutting down on minor surgery is the best way forward," Ric insisted hotly. "Just passing the word down the line, Ric," Alistair protested. "The way they see it, minor surgery takes up just as much time as the complicated stuff, and brings in a far lower revenue for the hospital." "Why does this place only ever consider the financial aspects of healthcare?" "That's private practice, Ric, you know that," Alistair added mildly. "Ric, your next patient's arrived," Tricia told him as they approached. But as Ric glanced over to where Karen and George were sitting, what he'd been about to say to Alistair froze on his lips. Karen Betts! He couldn't believe it. Not for fifteen years had he clapped eyes on this woman he'd known so well. Not for fifteen years had he heard a word from those enchantingly full and graceful lips of hers. Slowly walking towards her, he gradually took in every inch of her figure, from her soft, blonde hair, to the large, blue eyes, and right down the body to which he'd once paid so much attention. "Karen," He said as he moved towards her, Alistair and his insipid financial concerns forgotten. "Ric," She said, getting up to greet him. "Long time no see," She added, kissing his cheek as his arms went round her. "How are you?" He asked, holding her from him so that he could scrutinize her. "It's not you who's come to see me?" He asked, looking suddenly concerned. "No," She reassured him. Then, putting a hand out to encompass George, she said, "George, this is Ric Griffin, and Ric, this is George Channing. It's George who may be in need of your services," She added quietly, returning them all to the gravity of the situation. As George rose to her feet and Ric put out a hand to shake hers, she reflected that there must once have been something highly passionate and explosive between Ric and Karen, for them both to be so automatically familiar around the other. 

They followed Ric into a nearby consulting room, and as Ric gestured George to a seat in front of the desk, Karen took a chair off to the side. After taking a somewhat detailed medical history from her, Ric steepled his fingers on the blotter in front of him, and asked, "Are you taking any medication at the moment?" "Only the pill," George told him. "And how long have you been taking that?" George thought for a moment. "Except for about a year when I had my daughter, I've been taking it since I was seventeen." Ric's eyes widened. "But that's..." "Roughly thirty years, yes, I know," George replied. "Why, is that what you think has caused this?" "I couldn't possibly say," Ric said seriously. "But there is a school of thought that might agree with such a suggestion. Do you smoke?" "Yes, though not quite as much as Karen," She said, trying to lighten the situation. "That doesn't exactly put my mind at ease," Ric said with a slight smile. "Now, what I will need to do, is to first examine you, though Kay Scarpetta wouldn't have sent you to me without just cause. Then, I will send you for a mammogram and a chest X-ray, as well as a fine needle biopsy, which will involve the aspiration of some of the cells from inside the lump, which can then be analysed. So, if you would remove your blouse and bra, and lie down on the couch over there," He said, gesturing to an examination table. "We can get the first part over with." "Do you want me to go, or do you want me to stay?" Karen asked, thinking that George might not want her there for this. "Stay," George said lightly. "It's not as if you haven't seen it all before, is it." As George moved over to the table, she caught Ric's wide-eyed smile. Then, taking in Karen's slightly uncomfortable expression, she said, "Oh, god, darling, I'm sorry. Have I dropped you in it?" "Nothing I didn't know already," Ric astonished Karen by saying. 

When George was lying on the examining table, Ric moved to stand beside her, first examining her right breast, the one that didn't have a suspicious lump. "So," He said, as his long, tapered fingers moved over her skin. "What else can you tell me about what Karen's been up to, since the last time I saw her?" "Oh, apart from being the Governing Governor of the most successful women's prison in the country?" George replied, trying to keep her mind away from what he was doing. "When did that happen?" Ric asked in surprise. "Last year," Karen filled in. "What happened to that prison officer you were seeing," Ric asked. "The one who lured you away from nursing?" "Oh, he fell by the wayside a long time ago," Karen said dismissively. "Yes, so I see," Ric drawled, thinking that if Karen had decided to switch to women, she certainly knew how to pick them. "I'm not a current incumbent," George told him. "More of an ex, who knows just how well off she is in the friendship department." "I wish I had such a good relationship with any one of my exes," Ric said ruefully. "How many of them are there now?" Karen asked dryly. "I almost got married for the fifth time, nearly four years ago now. But let's just say I decided against it." "How's Jess?" Karen asked, thinking that this certainly went some way to explaining Ric's need for private work. "She's one of nine," Ric said almost proudly. "And training to be a nurse, whilst Leo is following in his father's footsteps. What about Ross?" there was a slightly appalled silence, and when Ric glanced at George's face, he saw a brief look of trepidation, telling him that he'd unwittingly stumbled into something difficult. Looking over at Karen, he saw the half concealed pain in her eyes. "I'll tell you some other time," Karen replied, knowing that it sounded as feeble as it felt. When Ric moved onto George's other breast, gently palpating the flesh, feeling for any inconsistencies in structure or appearance, he very soon discovered what had led George to seek his help. "Precisely how long have you had this?" He asked quietly, his fingers resting on the outer surface of the lump, which was roughly the size of a two-pound coin. "A while," George told him evasively, not meeting his eyes. "Tell him, George," Karen said with an encouraging smile. "He won't shout at you like I did." "I've had it since Christmas," George said quietly, feeling utterly, unbearably stupid. When she saw the brief expression of exasperated anger on Ric's face, she added, "Yes, Karen looked just like that when I told her. So please, no lectures, because I think I had them all last night." "So you've had this lump, between two and three months," Ric thought out loud. "Roughly how big was it when you found it?" "Probably about the size of a nut," George told him. "And judging by the surface area on the skin," Ric explained. "I would estimate that it's now probably about the size of a small egg, though this will be clarified with a mammogram. Can I ask why you left it so long before coming forward?" "I don't know," George said bleakly. "Call it a combination of denial, and mid life crisis stupidity, if you like." Gesturing for her to put her clothes back on, Ric sat back down behind the desk and added some notes to her file. "I'm now going to send you for a mammogram and a chest X-ray, just to make sure we're not dealing with anything else," He said, finally looking up. "After which Tash Bandara, my registrar, will take a fine needle biopsy. Then, when I've had a look at your X-rays, we'll talk about what happens next." As they walked out of the room, Ric turned to Karen. "While Mrs. Channing is otherwise engaged, have you got time for a coffee?" "Would you mind?" Karen asked George, not wanting her to feel in any way abandoned. "No, of course not," George said with a smile. "The pair of you are dying for an excuse to catch up, I can tell. I'll see you later." 

When he'd given George directions to the X-ray department, Ric asked Tricia if there was anyone in the rec room where they usually took their breaks. "No," She said, giving Karen the once over. "Connie, Tom and Zubin, they're all in theatre, and Tash is getting ready for George Channing's biopsy." When Ric had closed the door of the rec room behind them, Karen observed dryly, "You've certainly gone up in the world." Moving towards the kettle, Ric said, "I only do private work part time. The rest of my days are spent on Keller ward at St. Mary's. I was Clinical Director there for a while, but I handed that very poisoned chalice over to someone else. So, did you find what you wanted in the prison service?" "It's sometimes hard to remember what I went looking for," Karen replied quietly. "There have been times when I've thought about throwing down the handcuffs, and returning to the old familiarity of a stethoscope instead, but something always kept me from giving up. Even when it gets so bad, that I wonder if I'll ever do a worthwhile day's work again, I keep on going back. It's like you and operating," She said fondly. "Most of the time it's just my way of life, something I do day in day out because I'm good at it. But then, very occasionally, you get the real thrill of a success, when you know you've achieved something spectacular, even amongst all the pain and suffering that's around you, that can sometimes creep into your every pore. So, when I manage to get through to someone, to show them that committing crime doesn't have to be their raison d'etre, I know it's all been worth it." Ric listened to her as she said this, automatically making her coffee the way she'd always liked it. He knew he'd occasionally given little speeches like this, putting into words the feeling of purity and righteousness that he felt on curing someone from the most horrific injury or disease, so he didn't dismiss what she said as being fanciful, but understood every word of it as if he'd said it himself. When he handed her the mug of coffee, she smiled. "You've got a long memory," She said, taking it from him. "I should have," He said ruefully. "The amount of coffees I've made for you in my time. So, are you going to tell me about George?" "Before I do," Karen said, taking a swig of the coffee. "What's all this, it's nothing I didn't already know?" "There was very little I didn't get to know about you," Ric said carefully. "When you work day in day out with someone for nearly six years, you learn to interpret the things they feel. I always knew that you had, something of an interest in other women. From, an attraction point of view," He said slowly. "You might say it made you all the more interesting." Karen smiled, Ric was honest if nothing else. "The first time I really came into contact with George, she was cross-examining me in court. One of the prisoners on the wing where I worked at the time, managed to blow up part of the prison, killing one of the other inmates in the process. There's nothing quite so electric, as fighting with an equal. That's how we got to know each other, through some of the best verbal sparring I think I've ever had in my life. She was like me, had always found other women attractive, but had never done anything about it. She was spreading her wings with me, finding out what it was all about. She wasn't the first woman I'd had an affair with, but no matter how much it might have hurt, discovering that she was in love with someone else, she will always be incredibly special to me." "And what about Ross?" Ric asked quietly. Karen put her mug down on the coffee table. "He... He died," She said hesitantly, all the light having gone out of her face. "Last July." "God, Karen," Ric said, putting out a hand to her, sounding truly sorry for her. "He was in drugs rehab, and being his typically stubborn, adolescent, twenty-two-year-  
old self, he refused to let anyone tell me where he was. So, I didn't even know that drugs were a problem, until he'd killed himself." "It sounds completely inadequate," He said, unable to imagine the pain she'd gone through, and was probably still going through. "But I'm so, so sorry." His thoughts strayed to Leo, and he couldn't help but realise just how lucky he'd been, that Leo had come through drugs rehab, and was now back on track to become a doctor. Before Karen could say any more, Tricia put her head round the door. "Ric, we've got George Channing's X-rays." "All right," Ric told her. "We'll be out in a minute." As they moved towards the door, and Karen tried to replace her mask of professional detachment, Ric laid a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him and putting his arms round her. God, it felt briefly comforting to be in his arms again, his broad, muscular chest providing the occasional hint of stability that she'd sometimes needed. "I missed you," He said, softly kissing her cheek and resting his face against her hair, taking in that long remembered smell of her perfume and cigarette smoke. "You know why I didn't stay in touch," She told him gently. "It wasn't just because of Steve. You and I weren't exactly doing your second marriage a lot of good, now were we." "Nothing did that marriage much good," Ric said ruefully. "If it helps," She said, knowing what a can of worms she may be opening in doing so. "I missed you too." 

She followed Ric down the corridor to the nurse's station, and when he took the file of X-  
rays from Tricia, they moved back into the consulting room. Clipping the film of the mammogram under the light source, Ric brought it gradually into focus. "What do you make of that?" he asked Karen, almost as if the last fifteen years hadn't happened, and she was still working at his side. As Karen looked at the picture displayed on the screen, Ric outlined a mass in the lower left quadrant of George's left breast. "It looks like a spider," She said in horror. "It's enormous." "No matter what she told you," Ric said seriously. "I think Christmas is a very conservative estimate of when she first found this. I'm going to have to take away all the affected tissue, not just the tumour itself." "But that's... That's virtually her whole breast," Karen clarified. "Until I get in there," Ric explained. "I won't know how far the cancer has spread." "You'll frighten her to death, if you tell her she's going to lose a breast." "You know that I have to at the very least discuss it as a possibility," He said gently but firmly. "Just, just try and be gentle with her," Karen asked him, receiving one of his penetrating stares in return. "What's the story behind her distinct lack of spare flesh?" he asked, wondering if this might shed some light on Karen's wanting to minimise her stress. "She's a fairly successful anorexic," Karen said quietly. "But don't you dare tell her I told you. Only note it on her file if she tells you herself. The point is, that it's very easy for George to suddenly crash to rock bottom, and picturing what she might look like afterwards, isn't going to make it any easier." "All right," he said fairly. "Warning received and understood, but you know I have to give her all the possible outcomes." After a further moment's thought, he said, "Just how much support does she have, other than you I mean?" "Oh, her love life's even more complicated than yours used to be," Karen said with a wry smile. "She's got a man, and a woman, all involved in what you might call a three-way relationship. It's the most bizarre set up I've ever come across, but it works. She won't go short of anything, I can promise you that." "I will do everything I can for her," Ric assured Karen, his total honesty bolstering her defences. 

Just then, Tricia put her head round the door, to ask if he was ready to have George back. "Yes, bring her in," Ric replied, not moving from where they stood in front of the X-ray viewer. When George appeared, she moved to stand between them, closely scrutinizing Karen's face, to try and decipher anything that might be revealed in her expression. "Now I know it's bad," She said dryly. "You're wearing the professional face that you usually save either for appearing in court, or for breaking particularly difficult pieces of bad news." "I think it's one of the tricks of the trade," Ric said quietly. "Oh, I don't doubt it," George replied, almost as if she was putting off the moment of truth for as long as possible. "Karen managed to look just like that, on both occasions that I've seen her make mince meat of the opposition." "You were the opposition the first time," Karen said almost fondly. "So, what am I supposed to be looking at?" George asked, finally taking the bull by the horns. When Ric pointed out the spider-shaped mass on the image of her left breast, George looked horrified. "Good god," She said in astonishment. "That's disgusting! And unless that's normal behaviour for the inside of one's breast, it looks as if... As if it's pretty much invaded all of it." Her speech slowed and became hesitant as she gradually put the pieces together, realising just how much of her Ric would probably have to take away. As they watched, the colour drained from George's face, but she still couldn't take her eyes away from the tumour that she'd been carrying around inside her for months. As Ric switched off the viewer, Karen gently guided George into the chair in front of the desk. "The only sensible course open to us," He began slowly, making sure that she was actually listening to him. "Is to remove the tumour, and as much of the infected tissue as possible. I would recommend, that we do this without delay. I will do my utmost, to retain as much of your healthy breast tissue as I possibly can, but..." "You're making no promises," George finished for him. "I don't do promises," Ric told her earnestly. "It wouldn't do either you, or any of my other patients any good if I did. I won't know precisely how far this has spread, until I open you up." "Mr. Griffin," George said, fixing him with her piercing gaze. "Please give me due credit, for being in the business of detecting evasive answers. You think that you will be forced to remove my entire breast, don't you." "I think it is, more than likely, yes," He replied honestly. "And I do think it is something that you should try to prepare yourself for." George went quiet for a moment. "When do you want to do this?" She asked eventually. "In the next few days, if that can be arranged." "Fine," George said bleakly. "Precisely what is involved?" "This would obviously be done under a general anaesthetic, and would probably be followed by two or three days in hospital. Depending on what I find, I may then recommend either chemotherapy or radiotherapy. There are some further tests that I would like you to have, just to make sure that this is the only tumour we are dealing with." Turning to the dormant computer in the corner of the desk, Ric deactivated the screen saver, and moved to the hospital's appointments diary for the next few days. "I do have a private list on Tuesday," He said contemplatively. "And I do have a vacant slot at the beginning of the afternoon." When he glanced over at her, he could see the look of bewildered fear in her eyes. "I do realise that this has all come as an enormous shock," He said gently. "And that it probably feels as though everything is moving far too fast. But the sooner I can remove that tumour, the better off you will be." "If you have to remove my whole breast," George asked him. "And I stress if, what, erm, what will I look like?" "With a modified radical mastectomy, which is what I may have to perform, all of the breast tissue is removed, including the nipple and areola, plus the lymph nodes from under your arm. This can all be done via one incision, which, if this does need to be done, can be extended from the site of the removal of the tumour itself. I will perform the breast surgery, and our resident plastics expert, Carlos Fishola, will be responsible for the neatness of the scar. Again, the necessity for his involvement will only arise, if a full mastectomy is necessary." "Okay," George said quietly, though feeling that this was all anything but okay. "We will need you to be admitted on Monday," Ric told her. "So that various preoperative checks can be done." "Just how long am I going to be off work with this?" "I couldn't possibly say, though it would be advisable for you to arrange to be away from work, for at least the whole of the next couple of weeks. After that, well, let's see how things go." "What do you seriously suggest I do now?" She asked, not really expecting him to give her an answer. "You want my honest opinion?" Ric replied, his face entirely devoid of a smile. "I suggest that you go home, persuade either one or both partners away from the office, and spend the entire weekend in bed with them." Karen would have smiled at his blunt reply, but she knew that he was being deadly serious. "Because of how I am going to look afterwards?" George asked, not remotely embarrassed by his unequivocal response. "No," He said earnestly. "Because of how you may look, and because of how you will, feel. No matter how successful I may be in preserving as much of you as I can, you are going to look different, but you will feel even more so. Not to put too fine a point on it, you should enjoy that beautiful body of yours, whilst it still looks the way it does." 


	115. Chapter 115

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifteen

They were quiet as they drove away from the hospital, neither of them quite knowing what to say. "What do you want to do?" Karen asked as they waited at the traffic lights. It was just after one o'clock but neither of them felt remotely like having lunch. "I suppose I ought to go and tell Jo," George said miserably. "I've probably kept it quiet enough already, haven't I." "I'm not going to disagree with you," Karen said quietly. "What about John?" "No," George said almost fearfully. "He can't know, not yet anyway." "George…" Karen tried to protest. "Karen, if I have any contact with John whatsoever, before I have this done, I know I won't go through with it." "All right," Karen acquiesced, though the urge rose up in her to inform John herself. But no, that did have to be George's decision, even though Karen privately thought that she was making the wrong one. "Do you want me to drop you off at Jo's office?" She said as they neared that part of the city. "Yes please," George replied, not for the first time wondering how on earth she was about to break this piece of news to anyone, never mind the woman she knew she loved. As George's appointment hadn't been until eleven that morning, she had driven home for a fresh set of clothes, whilst Karen had dropped into the prison, to inform her secretary that she was unexpectedly going to be out for the morning, and possibly the afternoon. Her secretary had raised an eyebrow but failed to comment. It wasn't Karen's usual habit to disappear unexpectedly and without any real explanation, but as she had always been a pleasant boss to work for, she made no complaint. 

When Karen had driven away, George stood outside for a moment in the freezing February wind, trying to gather her scattered thoughts into some sense of order. She had to persuade Jo to come home with her, that was for certain, because neither Jo's reaction nor what would probably be their own heated discussion, should ever take place in anything resembling a professional environment. As she walked up the stairs towards Jo's office, she was forcefully reminded of the time she had come here to tell Jo about the Chlamydia. She had been embarrassed, angry and mortally humiliated on that occasion, but this time, all she felt was numbness, a feeling that her very existence was hanging in limbo, never mind the next few minutes. 

When Jo received the tap on her door, she bade whomever it was to enter. On looking up and seeing George, she instantly knew that something was wrong. "This is an unexpected pleasure," She said, getting up from her cluttered desk and walking over to where George was standing with her back to the closed door. "No, darling," George said regretfully. "It's not." Suddenly knowing what she needed, she moved into Jo's outstretched arms and simply held onto her, taking the comfort that emanated from Jo like warmth. Jo just held her, seeing that George obviously needed a little time to regroup, to muster up the courage to tell her something terrible. "What's happened?" Jo eventually asked, all sorts of possibilities running through her head. "Can you leave all this, and take the rest of the day off?" George asked into her shoulder. "I know it's an awful imposition, but we shouldn't do this here." "Erm, yes, I suppose so," Jo said whilst mentally running through the appointments she had that afternoon. "Just let me rearrange a few people, and then I'm all yours." "I'm sorry," George said, moving slightly back from her. "But it is important." "And you wouldn't be here, asking me to do this in the middle of the working day, if it wasn't," Jo said soberly. "So sit down, have a cup of tea and a cigarette, and give me ten minutes to do some sweet talking to a couple of clients." "I wouldn't mind something stronger if you've got it," George said as she sat down and dug out her cigarettes. "And I think we both know that a bottle of Scotch anywhere in my office, would be far too much of a temptation," Jo said without any hint of a smile. 

When they left a little while later, and Jo saw that George's car wasn't in the car park, she asked, "How did you get here?" "Karen dropped me off," George told her as they moved towards Jo's car. Jo looked at her warily. "You're not about to tell me that you're back with her, are you?" "No," George said perfectly seriously. "It's nothing like that, I promise." Trying to bury her growing curiosity and worry for the moment, Jo drove them to George's house, neither of them speaking. When they arrived in George's driveway, George led the way into the house, immediately making her way towards the lounge and the bottle of Martini that stood on the sideboard. It was perhaps this action more than any other, George drinking in the middle of the day, which worried Jo most. Something must be very wrong for her to do that. When George lifted the whisky bottle in Jo's direction, Jo nodded absent-mindedly, and joined George as she sat down on the sofa. The silence between them was tense, charged with what George knew was coming, and with what Jo didn't. After taking a swig of her drink and putting it down on the coffee table, George reached for Jo's hand, softly running her thumb over the knuckles, and trying to formulate the news she had to impart. 

"There's no easy way of telling you this," She began eventually, Jo giving her all the time she needed. "And if I didn't have to, then believe me I wouldn't, but I'm afraid that it's pretty much unavoidable." "George, stop rambling," Jo told her gently. "And just tell me." "I've got breast cancer," George said, still keeping hold of Jo's hand, as though this was the only thing that was keeping her afloat in a drowning tide of fear and uncertainty. Jo just stared at her, all the blood draining from her face, making her feel utterly cold inside. No, this couldn't possibly be happening, not to George, not to the vibrant, loving, argumentative woman she knew so well. George could see the reaction in Jo's eyes, the sheer terror shining out of them as the light of passion so often did. 

Eventually summoning up the energy to do something sensible, Jo got up from the sofa, picked up her as yet untouched whisky glass and walked into the kitchen, tipping its contents down the sink. When she returned and put the empty glass back down on the coffee table, George thought that she looked slightly more calm and collected, a little more like the Jo she was used to seeing. When she sat down again, she asked, "How long have you had it?" As though she'd known that George had done something completely irrational. "I first found it at Christmas," George said quietly, ready for the tirade that would no doubt be very similar to Karen's of the night before. "Oh, George!" Jo exclaimed, sounding hurt, angry and a little bewildered. "Yes, yes, I know," George interrupted before Jo could go any further. "Karen said everything that I suspect you're about to say to me last night, so I really don't need to hear it all again." "All right," Jo said, calming down a little. "But what made you finally do something about it?" "That's quite a long story," George said evasively, remembering that she had to keep any talk of Connie Beauchamp out of it. "I've got all day, George," Jo said succinctly. "So start talking." As George filled in the details of Kay's finding out about her lump, and making her the appointment with Ric Griffin, Jo just listened. "So," She said when George had finished. "You went to see Ric Griffin today?" "Yes," George confirmed. "I asked Karen to go with me, because that wasn't something I wanted to do on my own, and I wanted to know precisely what I was dealing with before I told you." 

"So," Jo asked a little shakily. "What happens now?" "I go into hospital on Monday, and they remove the tumour on Tuesday, and judging by what I saw on the X-ray this morning, there isn't going to be much of my breast left when they've finished." "I'm sorry," Jo said, the tears finally rising to her eyes as she reached for George, their arms going round each other to try and offer comfort that neither of them knew how to give. "I know," George replied, brief tears rising to her own eyes. "Which one?" Jo asked, her face nestled in George's soft hair. Taking Jo's hand in hers, George led it to her left breast. As Jo encountered the soft mound of flesh she knew so well, she could feel the hard, foreign lump, even through George's blouse and bra. "But that's huge," She said in horror. "It's grown," George said dully. "It was tiny when I first found it on Boxing Day." "Boxing Day?" Jo queried, clearly thinking. "But that was the day after that incredible night we had, when…" "…When you tied me up," George said with a smile of remembrance. "Yes, I know. I woke up in the early morning, and you two were still asleep. I remember looking out of the window, and thinking just how beautiful everything was, both outside and inside. I found the lump when I was in the shower." "And you didn't tell either of us," Jo said sadly. "I didn't know how to tell either of you," George tried to explain. "And the longer I put it off, the harder it became. Then we were all involved with Barbara's trial, which really didn't feel like the right time to bring up something like that." "I can't believe that neither John nor I ever found it," Jo said sounding slightly mystified. "That would be because I kept both of you away from that breast, and neither of you ever noticed." "And that might also explain why making love hasn't really been your chosen pastime of late," Jo said, putting the pieces together. "Partly," George admitted sheepishly. "I was terrified of either of you finding it, and I simply haven't often felt like it." "On Tuesday night when I saw John, before he went to the judges' seminar, he said he was worried about you. He said that there was something you weren't telling him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. This was it, wasn't it." "Yes, though at first he thought I was pregnant. He doesn't know about this yet, Jo, and he mustn't, not until there's no going back. I am utterly terrified of having my breast removed, but if I see or speak to John before I do, it'll make it a hell of a lot harder to contemplate." 


	116. Chapter 116

Part One Hundred and Sixteen

Once ensconced in one of the more comfortable rooms at Warwick University, John was able to turn his attention to the here and now. On the whole, the environment into which he was settling was congenial, even without seen through the rose tinted vision of sexual desire. It crossed his mind that this was the very first occasion he had viewed his surroundings in this way. He had an obvious nostalgic fondness for the university environment. It was true that the Oxford College was an infinitely more cloistered, stylish environment, before young upstarts like him to kick over the traces but Warwick University had its attractions. It was a campus university and sprawled over many acres of countryside and was constructed in the 1960's concrete brutalist style. To John's eye, had its perverse attractions. While he was here to lecture to the up and coming judges, it gave him a chance to dip a toe into the ambience of student life of which he was very fond.

Unlike before, a part of his mind was conscious and accepting of his home commitments. He could fondly picture both Jo and George going about their daily routines as normal. He looked out of his window at the spreading grass acres outside, and could envisage and contrast it to the confining restrictions of the court. Though distanced by space, he felt relieved that whatever problems there were in George's life, Jo would be there for her. He knew that Jo's word to look after George could be utterly relied upon and he was thankful for it. When he came to think of it, there were less people around than he liked to think of that he could depend upon for that level of trust. This was paradoxical when he considered how woven into the very fabric of the legal profession was a certain alcohol fuelled bonhomie. It was ironical that for someone who had devoted a lifetime in his calling that Larkhall women's support group was amongst the most faithful friends whom he could count upon. For someone who had grown up in what was once a male dominated profession and whose sexual appetite for women was both legendary and excessive, he realized that his closest and truest friends were women. A feeling of contented tenderness welled up within him for all concerned, wherever they might be as he stared out into the bright winter sunshine on a Thursday morning from within his warm and snug bedroom.

In a cheerful frame of mind, he selected his favourite dark suit and contrasting white shirt, and strolled down the staircase into the biting cold outside. He had been deceived by the very effective central heating of the accommodation block as he shivered inside. However, a bracing walk along the square concrete paving slabs took him to the brand new Conference Centre. He smiled pleasantly at the man on the door and made his way to the forty-seat capacity Lecture Room 2. The cream coloured carpets merged with the neutral colours and the geometrically drawn lines. He pushed open the swing door and made his way to the amphitheatre shaped room, which stacked up the rows of seats to the top of the room, and assisted his voice to project to the back of the hall. Years of speaking in courts had trained him to project his voice to perfection. He studied his notes carefully while the lecture room gradually filled up with an attentive audience. John's reputation had preceded him and, while other lecturers were of varying qualities, at least John's lectures were never boring. He smiled maliciously to himself as he reflected on the fact that this lecture might be easily titled 'Subversion in Contemporary Society' and that one day, he might write a book on the topic.

"You will have either read or have been brought up, as I have been, on the conventional assumption of the separation of powers of the judiciary, the executive and the legislature. The theory behind this assumption is a perfectly sound one. Each of them has its due and proper place. The creation of new laws is the prerogative of a democratic society, based on the elected members of parliament, which is given due scrutiny in the Houses of Parliament. Whether or not it creates bad law is another matter and one that can be rectified by amending legislation in the same way that a judge's decision can be appealed to the court of appeal. While it is personally uncomfortable for anyone to admit that they have erred, it is important, not only as a judge but as a human being to admit your fallibility as a human being learn the lesson and, if need be, to apologise. The real concern is that the executive is constructed and peopled who are beyond any awareness of human fallibility or of inner reflection. Honest criticism is seen as subversion to be so easily answered by their suppression of unwelcome truths, to compensate by the simple and easy use of power in place of honest questioning, soul searching and self-doubt. Believe you me, you cannot be an effective judge, or for that matter, a human being without these instructive qualities.  
. The executive powers of the government is a similarly time honoured institution. The trouble is that the relationship between these three organizations has never been fully spelt out. Whereas the Americans framed a constitution to define the relationship between the state and the people, it has been complacently considered that it has not been necessary to do so in this country. The reasons for this are that possibly because this country is the oldest democracy in the world or the perception that English people are essentially freedom loving and will defend ancient liberties. For all that, Edmund Burke expressed the vulnerability of all societies to the threat of tyranny and put it succinctly when he said that "For evil to flourish, all it is necessary is that good men remain silent."

The judiciary has a critical role in interpreting the law, placed in the context of case law to maintain consistency of principle across the spectrum of activity and in the evolution of time. It must be borne in mind that change in case law arose from an individual judge who asked questions, who did not accept that the accumulated wisdoms fitted the particular circumstances. He invented a new approach in dealing with a particular case and went on to propound a general principle to serve future generations only as long as it remains the highest wisdom.

What is most worrying is the growing supine attitude of the legislature to the increasingly over mighty executive. In turn, it arrogantly considers, in its increasingly isolated environment, to be the fount of all wisdom and to inflict it on the rest of society. The Human Rights Act was created to remedy the lack of a formal constitution and, however defective you might think it or limited in its application, its creation must be applauded. However, you will recall the public statements of the government six months ago that it intended to create legislation in order to instruct judges on how to interpret that act in relation to terrorist offences. Legitimate concern for public safety is one matter. The deliberate and insidious encroachment of the powers of the executive is quite another and is part of a trend that must be resisted.

What forms of resistance must be taken up is the next question that springs to mind. There is no easy answer to this. There is nothing in the law books and textbooks upon the subject. From my experience, I would draw out certain key points. The first point is in constructing your own set of values. You need to publicly set your stall out as to what you will permit, what you will be amenable to and what you will not compromise on. It is important to separate out the essential from the incidental. From then on, you must determine that what you have, you must hold onto. Secondly, you must learn the correct mix of persuasion and force of position. Thirdly, you must develop your knowledge through people of all levels and walks of life as to what really goes on in society. To that extent, there is some merit in the criticism leveled at our profession that we are somewhat insular and rooted in the past. That being said, it is the height of folly to ditch both good and bad in our traditions and follow the cursed siren sounds of modernism and to sell your soul. Believe me, if you do that, it is almost impossible to redeem it. From my observations, the more compliant you are when you should not be, means that you pick up a particularly poisoned chalice of a reputation. This is the ill luck of being regarded as a 'safe pair of hands' which I urge you to distinguish from earning a professional reputation in being as good as a practitioner as you can possibly be. The real problem of being thought of being as 'politically dependable' is that it is infinitely harder to break out of that trap than if you are thought of as something as a rebel. You may be feared by the growing band of apparatchiks in this country but at least they will respect you." John strolled around the confined area as he delivered his lecture in an easy paced manner. Normally, his glance would have taken in the more attractive female students, as he knew full well that there is nothing as seductive as a display of intelligence so long as it is couched in the correct manner, down to the certain cadences of sounds and words. He had consciously taken advantage of this on a number of occasions in the past. This time, it was different. The students were hastily scribbling down their notes but he wondered just how far they would inwardly digest his observations, assimilate them and apply them in their future conduct. He could sense the careerists in the making who he could see had switched off as he made them uncomfortable and were on automatic writing mode. He could see the more thoughtful students who were taking in his words. Normally, he could pick out the more attractive women who listened to the man as well as the messages but this time, resolved to be utterly disinterested in his efforts to communicate his feelings. He could never deny his attractiveness and disfigure himself but at least, he knew that he had choices in life.

He strolled around on his favourite stretch of ground in the lunch break. This was the large square grassy area, which sloped up sharply to the back entrance of the conference centre. There was a pleasing symmetry in the shape and it felt that it put him in touch with nature. It was the ideal place for contemplation, and he was aware that there were certain parts of his lecture, which he owed a debt of gratitude. That very remarkable woman, Helen Wade had questioned the very nature of his existence as never before. The end of the last session had upset him unbelievably, but he knew enough to realize that he should never be too proud to fight what hard truths she cared to lay on him. He should reserve his capacity for defiant opposition for where it was appropriate. What was happening in his life had some kind of purpose. What warmed him up inside despite the bitter cold, was to cling to the perception that she was utterly sincere and giving of herself to his reclamation. All he needed was certain courage to face himself, a quality that was far more demanding than he had ever imagined, especially as a self-confessed truth seeker. He felt contented with himself, as he was starting to feel whole and secure in himself. He had never felt this way before. He was vigorous and alert as he had always been and age may have brought on a few more grey hairs but life's experiences had also given him the wisdom that he had more to learn. Only the young and callow think that they know it all. Life was good to him. 


	117. Chapter 117

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Seventeen

On the Monday morning, Jo telephoned the office to ask her secretary to rearrange her first appointment, so that she could go to the hospital with George. "What on earth does one take, to prevent one from going completely insane?" George asked, as she tried to pack a bag with everything she might need. "The last time I spent any time in hospital, was when Charlie was born, and all I seem to remember was wanting to go to sleep and never wake up again." "You probably won't feel like doing very much," Jo told her reasonably, George's alluding to wanting to die worrying her. "When do you want me to tell John?" She asked, the prospect of having to do this weighing heavily on her. "I'm sorry that I'm asking you to do this," George said sincerely. "But I'm only just managing to deal with my own reactions as well as some of yours. I think that John's as well would be too much." "Is that why you decided to do something about it now?" Jo asked, the possibility only just occurring to her. "Because you knew what would probably happen, and because you knew he would be away, meaning therefore that you almost certainly wouldn't have to be the one to tell him?" "That's dreadfully insightful for this early in the day," George commented dryly, not entirely meeting Jo's gaze. "And I can assure you that I didn't consider all the salient facts quite so clinically, but yes, there is probably some truth in it. I think I knew, that the longer I tried to ignore it, the crosser John, you, and anyone else might be." Taking the underwear from George's hands and putting it in the bag they were packing, Jo put her arms round her. "Yes, I am furious with you for taking such a stupid, pointless risk," She said quietly but with no less feeling. "But that's only because it frightens the hell out of me that I might lose you. I certainly don't agree with what you did, but I do understand it, and so will John, once he calms down from the initial shock." As their lips met gently and lingeringly, George thought, not for the first time, just how lucky she was. "Will you tell him tomorrow?" She said into Jo's hair. "Tell him when there's no going back, because I know that if I see or speak to him before I go through with this, I more than likely won't do it." "You might not lose the entire breast, you know," Jo tried to persuade her. "Jo, I'm not stupid," George said wearily. "And neither are you. I think we both know just how different I'm going to be after this." 

After throwing a couple of her more trashy novels into the bag, they got into Jo's car and drove to the hospital. "You said that Karen knows your surgeon," Jo said, wanting to find anything to break the tense silence that had risen between them. "Yes, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't just a professional relationship. She says he taught her everything she knows, and he is very nice." "Something you might have to explain," Jo said carefully, as they waited at the traffic lights. "Is precisely why you are as thin as you are at the moment." "I'm not that bad," George said unconvincingly. "George, have you looked in a mirror lately?" Jo said a little exasperatedly. "You are almost painfully thin, and definitely well below the weight you ought to be." "How can my weight have any bearing whatsoever on whether or not I lose my breast?" George demanded a little defensively. "They will want to weigh you, in order to decide how much anaesthetic to give you," Jo told her calmly. "Oh," George said resignedly. "I'd forgotten about that." They were silent for a little while longer, until George briefly rested a hand on Jo's as it lay on the gear stick. "I'm sorry," She said quietly. "I just feel as though everything's happening a bit too quickly, that's all." "I know," Jo said gently. Then she asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to tell John today? He'd come back from Warwick like a shot if he knew, and I think you could do with all the support you can get." "No, Jo, you mustn't," George insisted, the terrified vehemence in her voice stilling any further suggestion. "It frightens me quite enough already to consider just how unattractive I'm going to be after this, and just what effect that is going to have on John and my relationship with him. If I even speak to him before I have the operation, I know I won't go through with it, no matter what that might mean. So please, don't even think of telling him until there's no going back." "I do think you might give him a little more credit than that," Jo said a little stonily. "Oh, come on, darling," George said in slight disgust. "We both know just how fickle John can be with regards to female beauty or a distinct lack of it, so I don't want to hear how John would far rather me alive and ugly than dead and beautiful." "Just try listening to yourself for one minute," Jo said her anger rising. "And you'll realise how ridiculous you sound. John loves you, and he always will love you, no matter how you look." "You perhaps," George threw back bitterly. "But I don't think he'll be able to find much use for me after this." 

Turning into the car park of the hospital, Jo scattered gravel as she pulled into a space, switching off the engine and taking hold of George's shoulders. "I don't ever want to hear such defeatist talk from you again. Is that clear?" She said, slightly shaking George's shoulders. "John wouldn't listen to it, and neither will I. Whatever it takes, and no matter how much heartache all three of us have to go through to achieve it, we will get you through this. Apart from John and my children, you are the most precious, beautiful thing in my life, and that isn't going to change, no matter how you look." "I'm sorry," George said a little timidly, the tears having risen to her eyes. "I don't want to argue with you, not today," Jo told her, pulling her tightly against her. "But keep talking like that and I will." They kissed gently and lingeringly, both of them wanting to put aside the harsh words they'd uttered only moments before. "Come on," Jo said eventually, detaching herself from George's soft embrace. "We'd better go in." 

They walked through the plush reception area up to the department where George had been yesterday, though now she was here to stay for a few days, unable to leave as she had done before. George could feel her pulse racing, her breath quickening as the fear rose in her. "You'll be all right," Jo told her, giving her hand a squeeze. "Let's hope so," George said dully, as they approached the desk. Tricia showed them to George's room, which apart from the hospital bed, looked far more comfortable than anything the NHS could provide. George found herself thanking every god possible that she'd taken out private medical insurance, as she knew that privacy was something she would desperately need over the coming days. Tricia gave her a plain hospital gown to change into, whilst Jo unpacked the few belongings she'd brought with her. "Why Jilly Cooper?" Jo asked, holding up one of George's favourite novels. "I thought I might need something that would make me smile," George told her, removing her clothes and slipping into the white cover-all she'd been given. "Not very flattering, is it," She said in disgust, taking a look in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. "I don't think it's supposed to be," Jo replied, thinking that the shapeless, white gown made George look even thinner than normal. Glancing at her watch, Jo saw that the time was approaching for her first appointment. "You need to go, don't you," George said, observing the glance. "Yes, I'm afraid so," Jo said regretfully. "I don't want to leave you, though." "I'll be all right," George assured her. "They're just going to be doing lots of weird and wonderful tests on me for most of the day." Moving forward, Jo took George in her arms, holding her almost skeletal frame as close to her as possible. "I'll come and see you later," She promised, gently kissing her. "I'll look forward to it," George told her gently, kissing her back. They were standing like this when Tricia reappeared, carrying a tray of various scary-looking implements. "Shall I come back?" She asked, popping her head round the door. "No, I was just leaving," Jo said, gently detaching herself from George and looking a little flustered. George smirked at her. "Please don't blush, darling, it makes you look utterly enchanting." "Really," Jo said disbelievingly. "Now, promise me to behave, and do everything they ask of you without protest." "Jo, this is me you're talking to, not John, you know." "Yes, which is precisely why I'm saying it." 

When Jo had gone, Tricia said, "Right, I need to take a few vital statistics, and fill in a few forms." After filling in no end of admissions forms, Tricia took her blood pressure, temperature and pulse, and told her that Ric would be doing his rounds very shortly. "He'll probably find plenty of other things for me to do, but that's all for now." 

When she'd gone, George couldn't help but think how quiet it was, which she supposed was a welcome realisation when it came down to it. But when Ric appeared along with Tash and someone George didn't recognise, she definitely appreciated the distraction. "Mrs. Channing," Ric began. "This is Tash Bandara, my registrar whom you met on Thursday, and Carlos Fishola, our resident plastic surgeon." "Please, call me George," She replied with a smile. "I hear Mrs. Channing all day in court." "George then," Ric continued. "We need to examine you. Is that all right?" As she lay on the bed, and the three of them clustered around her, she fixed her eyes on the ceiling, trying to think of anything but what they were doing to her. "Have you considered having reconstruction?" Carlos asked her, his rich, American drawl sliding over her skin. "I only found out last week that I'd probably be having my breast removed," She explained to him. "So no, it's not something I've really thought about." "It's not a decision you need to make now by any means," Carlos assured her. "And because we don't yet know how extensive your tumour is, I wouldn't recommend trying to reconstruct at the point of tomorrow's surgery. What I would like to do some time today, however, is to take some photographs of you, that can be used if you do decide to have reconstruction at a later date." "Be my guest," George said dryly, thinking that John would have liked to do this for him. Calling Tricia into the room, Ric began giving her a list of the various tests he wanted George to have. "Let's start with a full CT and MRI scan, to rule out any further tumours of any description. Take blood and urine for kidney function, U's and E's, Glucose levels, Protein levels, and full blood count." Then, looking back at George, he asked, "Any possibility that you could have any type of infection?" "I doubt it," She said a little unsure of what he wanted. "Though it depends what you mean." "I mean anything from a minor cold to a sexually transmitted disease." At the mention of the latter, George couldn't help but blush. Then, as she remembered John's infidelity of a few weeks before, she knew that she had to be honest with him. "John, my lover, did manage to give me Chlamydia last year, so yes, I suppose anything's possible." "Then can you add a cervical swab to the list," Ric told Tricia. "Because we need to eliminate any possibility of an infection before surgery. Now, right on time, is our anaesthetist," He added, glancing up as the door opened. "Professor Khan," George said in total shock, staring at him from where she still lay under the sheets. "Ms Channing," He replied, equally astounded to see her. "Do you two know each other?" Ric asked in surprise. "I should say so," Zubin said with a slight smile. "Ms Channing rather successfully defended my honour in court not so long ago." "I see," Ric said resignedly. "This is a complication I hadn't foreseen. Would you like me to try and find someone else?" He asked George. "Certainly not," She told him firmly. "I trust Professor Khan's judgment implicitly, and it would be nice to be dealing with someone I already know." "In that case, I'll leave you to it," Ric said, relieved that he wasn't going to have this extra hassle. 

When everyone but Tricia had gone, Zubin laid his own stack of forms down on the table. "I was more than a little surprised to find you here," He said, wanting to put her at her ease but not really knowing how. "A case of denial and stupidity," George told him bleakly. Glancing at her file, Zubin took in the details of why she was there, as well as the length of time it was estimated that she had known of her lump. "Did you know about this during the trial?" He asked, finally looking back at her. "Yes," She admitted sheepishly. "Then why for god's sake didn't you ever say anything?" He demanded exasperatedly. "Even before then you could have done. Me, Tom, even Kay, we would all have given you whatever help and advice we could." "Zubin, please don't do this," George almost begged him. "I'm sorry," He said, realising that he'd probably been going a bit too far. As he read through the questions on the anaesthetic form, he wondered just why she had left it so long before coming forward. When he got to, "Do you take the pill?" She answered him in the affirmative. "I'd like you to stop taking it, right now, though in view of the tumour you already have, I suspect Ric would be telling you the same at some point. The contraceptive pill can lead to a higher risk of blood clots, which is something we want to avoid when performing major surgery. This may put you out of sync for a while, but that can't be helped. Now, do you smoke?" "You know I do," George said with a slightly sardonic smile. "Roughly how many a day?" "Five?" She suggested hopefully. "And after lunch?" Zubin replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. "Oh, all right, probably the same again." "Now for the part most people hate. I need to weigh you." Keeping her face as blank as possible, though Zubin noticed that her eyes kept flitting between him, Tricia, and the scales Tricia had brought in with her, George got out of bed, and moved to stand on them. "Gown off, please," Zubin told her. "I need your exact body weight." At her slight hesitation, he added, "You won't have anything I haven't seen before." Nonchalantly removing the gown, as though stripping off in front of an audience was something she did every day, George stood on the scales and held her breath. The scales stood at six stone two. "Ms Channing, do you have a problem with food?" "If you're going to ask me questions like that, you may as well go back to calling me George," She told him evasively, as she stepped off the scales and Tricia handed her the gown. "Tricia, can you leave us for a moment, please?" Without a word, Tricia left the room, taking the scales with her to put them away. "I would like you to answer my question," Zubin encouraged her quietly, sitting in the chair beside her bed as she got under the covers again. "Yes, I do have what you might call a problem with food," She told him reluctantly. "And no, it's not a recent issue. I've been doing it on and off since I was fifteen. The more stress I'm under, the less I eat." "Are John and Jo aware of this?" He asked, having become aware of their relationship at some point during the trial. "Of course they are," She told him with a smile. "I'm not that successful an actor." "You're not going to like it," He told her regretfully. "But I want to feed you up a bit before you have surgery tomorrow. I'm going to put you on a nutritive drip, but you must try to eat something today. I will be telling Tricia that I want you to get some food inside you, and I'll warn you now, she won't be taking no for an answer. You are seriously undernourished, and if it wasn't so urgent, I would be recommending that we wait at least a month before operating to allow you to get your strength up, but that isn't an option." "You think me even more stupid than ever now, don't you?" She said, feeling almost unbearably small. "I'm not going to pour scorn on any addiction, George, because I know that it's never as simple as that. Have you ever talked to anyone about it?" "Not to anyone professional, no, and I have absolutely no intention of doing so," She replied firmly. Zubin began to look thoughtful. "We'll see," He said, having an idea though he wasn't sure how much she would agree to it. When he left the room a little while later, he said to Tricia, "Ms Channing needs to be on a nutritive drip until tomorrow, and you need to try to persuade her to eat something. She is a periodic anorexic, so you won't find it an easy task. In view of her decreased size, I would also like her to have an ECG some time today, just to make sure her heart really is up to having surgery." "I wonder what started her with the not eating?" Tricia said speculatively. "She says she's been doing it since the age of fifteen, so it could be anything. Try and talk to her, you never know what you might find out. Don't tell her this, but I'm going to speak to Tom, and see if he'll talk to her about it. He knows her as well as I do, so she might talk to him, and let's face it, Tom knows far more about addictions than you or I do." 

When Tricia returned to George's room to take the necessary samples and swabs, she found George staring out of the window at the dreary day outside. "So, by the sounds of it, you've got two partners on the go," Tricia said, immediately grabbing George's attention, which had been what she'd wanted. "Yes, I suppose I have in a manner of speaking," she said with a broad smile. "Though it's not quite as forbidden as you might think." "That's what my daughter always says," Tricia replied ruefully. "No, really," George insisted, as Tricia prepared to take some blood from her arm. "Jo, John and I are involved in what you might call a three-way relationship. It's highly bizarre, but it honestly does work." "Oh, well, each to their own," Tricia said philosophically. "And the more support you can have at a time like this, the better." "John doesn't know yet." "Why?" Tricia asked in surprise, having thought that anyone would tell their nearest and dearest something like this as soon as possible. "He's away, teaching at a judge's seminar in Warwick," George explained. "He's going to be furious with me when he finds out how long I left it before doing something about it, and let's face it, he's hardly still going to find me remotely desirable after it's done, is he." "You don't know that," Tricia told her gently, briefly laying a hand on her shoulder. "But I do understand where you're coming from." "Do you?" George asked, a little surprised that Tricia hadn't tried to convince her otherwise. "I've been involved, on and off, with Carlos for the last couple of years. You know, the plastic surgeon you met this morning. When I had to have my breast removed, not long after I'd started seeing him, I didn't think he'd want to be anywhere near me afterwards, him being in a job where making people look as perfect as possible was his bread and butter. But he did. It took him a while to convince me, but he managed it in the end." "You've had this too?" George asked, incredibly grateful for Tricia's words of experience. "Yes, which is why I think Ric asked me to look after you. Now, I'm under very strict orders to get you to eat something today. Professor Khan thinks you are very undernourished, and he wants to feed you up a bit before the operation. So, I'm going to put you on a drip, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to allow you to get away with not eating." "I did eat yesterday," George tried to tell her, hoping this might make a difference. "And am I supposed to believe that?" Tricia asked, clearly unconvinced. "Ask Jo, she cooked it," George insisted. "Well, that was yesterday, and I am not going to ignore the wishes of a consultant." "You're not going to give up, are you," George said resignedly. "No," Tricia told her gently but firmly, making George realise that she'd finally met someone who could match her in determination. 

Later that morning, Zubin strolled into the break room to find Tom reading the paper and drinking a hasty cup of coffee. "Guess who's become a patient of this place as of this morning?" He said without preamble. "Judging by your tone, I'll assume it's someone I know," Tom replied amiably. "Someone we both know," Zubin told him. "George Channing." "What's she in for?" Tom asked in astonishment. "Breast cancer," Zubin said regretfully. "Oh no, poor girl," Tom replied in genuine sympathy. "That isn't her only problem," Zubin filled in. "She is seriously underweight, and is being fairly open about her periodic anorexia." "And because I know more about addictions than you do from personal experience, you want me to talk to her," Tom finished for him. "Would you?" Zubin asked. "You might just be able to get somewhere with her." "Sure, leave it with me," Tom replied, folding up the paper in preparation for returning to theatre. "I'll go and see her this afternoon." 

At about three o'clock, George was sitting up in bed, attached to a drip and trying to make some notes for a case that she would now have to pass onto somebody else. She hadn't slept particularly well the night before, and now felt tired, in need of nicotine and thoroughly out of sorts. When the door opened, however, she was heartily grateful for the distraction. "Can I come in?" Tom said, popping his head round the door. "Tom, yes of course," George said with a smile. ""I would kill for a cigarette, so talking to you might help me think of something else." Tom laughed as he came into the room and closed the door. "You don't change, do you," He said, sitting down in the chair beside her bed. "Not yet, no," George replied a little bleakly. "But I suppose there's time." "Zubin told me you were here," He said, thinking this as good a place as any to start. "Yes, I wondered how long it would take the grapevine to spring into action," George told him dryly. "He wasn't very pleased with me." "Zubin is rarely pleased with anyone," Tom said without a flicker. "He's never so happy as when he's criticising something or someone. May I?" He asked, gesturing to the file of notes that was on the table at the end of her bed. "Be my guest," George replied ruefully. "Everyone else has." Quickly flicking through the notes in the file, Tom took in just how long she had known of the lump in her breast. "It says here that you've known about this since Christmas," He said in astonishment. "Tom, please," George said a little tightly. "I've had lectures from just about everyone, so I really don't need another one from you. I am very well aware of just how stupid it was, and that I only have myself to blame." ""That isn't what I was going to say," Tom told her firmly. "But yes, I do wish you'd said something." "I, we, needed to concentrate on Barbara and getting her free," George said quietly. "It wasn't the right time to start thinking about something like this." "Tumours rarely appear at the most convenient times. Ric once operated on me, you know." "Did he?" George asked, briefly thinking that having colleagues who could save one's life was definitely an added bonus of working in the medical profession. "Yes, for a ruptured ulcer. That was the day my cover was well and truly blown. Judging by the state of my liver, Ric used process of elimination to work out that I'd been drinking on duty. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry before or since. He could have reported me for it, but he didn't. Instead, he chose to do a deal with me, to make me sort myself out, or my career would have been over. The point is, you couldn't find a better surgeon for something like this than Ric Griffin. He really is the best in his field, but don't tell him I said that." "That's nice to know," George said, feeling all her insecurities rising inexorably to the surface. "Tom, is it slightly ridiculous to be so, terrified?" She asked, hesitating over the correct adjective. "No, of course not," He assured her. "It's perfectly natural, though what certainly won't help you, is your little habit of not eating." "Oh, so that's why Zubin told you I was here," George said dejectedly. "He wanted you to try and convince me that the only way to deal with an addiction is to confront it head on. Well, I've got news for Professor Kahn," She added a little acidly. "I confronted that little gem of my personality a very long time ago. It's not something I do on a regular basis, therefore I refuse to believe that it is doing me any serious harm. If John and Jo can cope with me occasionally doing it, then why can't anybody else?" "George, you're preaching to the converted," Tom told her quietly, hearing the rising note of hysteria in her voice. "I'm sorry," She said, feeling thoroughly stupid and incredibly small. "I'm just sick and tired of having to constantly justify myself, that's all." "That really winds you up, doesn't it," Tom said in complete sympathy. "Yes," George said sounding utterly exasperated, inwardly cursing the tears that rose unbidden to her eyes. "How long have you been doing it?" "On and off since I was fifteen. John was less than amused when he found out, though that wasn't until after our daughter was born." "Did you have postnatal depression?" "Postnatal disinterest more like," George said disgustedly. "But that's not a story you need to hear." 

When Tom left her a little while later, promising that he would come and see her again whilst she was there, George turned over, buried her face in the pillow and cried. She knew now that Jo had been right, and that John should have been told. She badly wanted him here, to put his arms round her, and tell her that everything was going to be all right. But he wasn't here, he was in Warwick, blissfully unaware of where she was or what was happening to her. He was going to be so cross with her, she knew that, not just for keeping quiet this long, but for not telling him when she could have done. As she silently cried herself into an exhausted sleep, she wondered if she would ever again feel the sincere comfort of his embrace. 


	118. Chapter 118

Part One Hundred and Eighteen

Jo was perusing the new trial papers that had come her way. It was a pretty cut and dried bank robbery case, which she ought to have been able to take the measure of straightaway. However, despite the second cup of coffee, her mind simply wasn't working properly. She had long experience in being able to winnow out the incidental from the essential, to follow the trail of evidence through to its conclusion , but the jigsaw just wasn't coming together. All the pieces were jumbled up against each other, and nothing made sense. She tried all her normal strategies to get a grip on the case but, unaccountably, they all failed. It was only when she gave up when the thoughts that had demanded her attention, finally forced their way through to centre stage. She surrendered to the inevitable, and with a groan of irritation, picked up the file and threw it on the floor.

The voice inside her head shrieked at her, demanding what in hell she should do about telling John or not as the case might be. She tried to adopt a balanced approach, to load the scales fairly on both sides of the argument, but her feelings seized command of her thought processes. All her instincts cried out to tell John. She had felt cold with shock, angry at George, and fearful for her all at the same time. She narrowly resisted reaching for a huge slug of whisky, and downing it in one go, anything to block off her feelings. As George had gone on to explain the reasoning for her actions, she had to admit that they made sense in a cockeyed sort of way. She could understand George's total fear of telling John. At once, all her sympathies rallied round John.

Her frantic mind leapt onwards at breakneck speed, and pictured John at Warwick University in total blissful ignorance of what was going so drastically wrong with George's life. He had been happy, serene, as Jo saw him off in his car as he set off to Warwick. The expression on John's face was of a man at peace with himself, sure of himself and his bearings in the world. In particular, he was content that she could look after George and, by implication, whatever was worrying her. The hideous irony of the situation was that she was hard pressed to come to terms with her own reaction to the situation, let alone look after anyone else, either physically or spiritually. She could vividly remember her own feelings of fear and helplessness when her own husband had been first diagnosed with cancer. It felt that a lynchpin which had held together her own world had been knocked out with one cruel blow leaving everything in her own life to fall apart. The next moment, everything seemed like a bad dream, that she would wake up and that married life would carry on with her two small children, much though it had done so for years. It was all a bad mistake, and that the hospital, the doctor, the summons to a private room, the sympathetic tones would just go away. Of course, she was a lot younger then but at that age, she thought that she was pretty grown up and mature.

Was it only recently that John's puzzled voice articulated a conundrum that he could not make sense of? "My precise words to her were that I just wished that she would talk to me and the answer was and I quote 'I can't, not yet, anyway.'" The bitter irony of the situation as seen from both sides was not lost on Jo. At face value, all it appeared was that George had a problem in communicating something but that, given time, all would be clear. In reality, time had been trickling dangerously away towards the point of no return. Only by sheer chance, was that moment seized and at least, George would live. That was the best that could be said of the situation, Jo reflected as waves of emotions flooded through her. The worst of the situation was too overwhelming to sit down, and calmly list as items in a balance sheet. 

A lightning bolt of command struck her. She needed someone she could talk to. But who could she talk to? At that moment, she was intensely envious of the Larkhall womens support group. She had seen them at a distance, the way they were there for each other of one of them had their troubles. She was always just out of reach, destined to spend lonely hours complete with law books and files. She, along with George now, was their saviour but that didn't bring her any closer. She felt that she couldn't just pick up the phone to call on Yvonne, or Cassie or Nikki………but she could call on Karen.

A smile of satisfaction spread across her face as the options opened up and she listed them one by one. For a start, she knew the situation and for another, she had been a nurse, which gave her that professional tie in. For good measure, she had been George's lover and was closer than any of them to John. A golden glow of contentment spread through her, better than any whisky. She might not see how she could tell John, but she had laid hold of a possible opportunity. She picked up the phone and dialed the number.

"I've got a problem, Karen, and I wanted to ask your opinion. It's about George's breast cancer." Jo started in abruptly, just as Karen poured her a cup of coffee, and before either of them had a chance to light a cigarette. Karen glanced over at Jo with more concern than was obvious. Jo had that coiled up, tensed energy about her that was ready to spring loose at any moment. "You got the right word, Jo." Karen answered with dry understatement to conceal her own tension running through her. Now that she was dealing with someone else's problems, curiously enough she became calmer.  
"Well, what do I do about telling John? I can't even begin to deal with this." 

Karen said nothing, as Jo pressed her hands to her head. She would have to take the initiative. Her mind took her, uninvited, back to the faded memories of her nursing days and her eyes gazed out of the window. A lot of her recollections were of a generalized tired blur, punctuated by good memories of the patients whom her nursing skills helped to heal, and the bad memories of those who died on her. Her mind's eye saw the scenery as she looked on while the registrar or the surgeon told the patient the bad news. A younger Ric Griffin peeked his face out of the memory kaleidoscope and, no matter, how caring his bedside manner, there was only so far that he could protect the patient. Funnily enough, a surprisingly large number of them either suspected or knew how much their bodies were failing them. What Karen had found infinitely painful to deal with was maintaining her professional manner in front of patient's relatives. They were shocked, dazed or plain hurting inside when the worst of all possible news was broken to them. There was no magic formula, nothing you could plan for except that each person situation was unique. "So what on earth do I say to John?" Jo repeated to the other woman who looked as if she were half here. "I'm sorry, Jo." Karen excused herself as her eyes became sharp and alert again. "What were you saying"  
"About John. How do I tell him? I've tried everything but everything I think of sounds either heartless or totally false"  
This dragged Karen back to the present. Of course, John was no ordinary patient but a dear friend of all of them. It was this that made it so hard for all of them.  
"Sometimes, conversations like this aren't planned or they shouldn't be. Sometimes the words find themselves when it came to the crunch." Started Karen, slowly and reflectively. Instantly, she realized the false step she had taken, as she could see that she had only pushed Jo into a greater panic than before. Karen was suggesting that Jo should go into the most dangerous arena of the emotions totally naked when, more than any other occasion, she needed protection and certainty, both for herself as well as John.  
"I can't possibly do that. For a start, John is away lecturing at Warwick University and I'll have to phone him. I can't see myself telling John anyway but it's far worse to phone him. It feels so disembodied and impersonal"  
"I can understand that, Jo but you have the choice of phoning now, or sitting on the whole thing until he comes back. It will be hard enough to explain George's delay in seeking medical help without you adding to the delay." Karen answered, with a trace of firmness in her voice. 

Jo turned white. Though well meant, these calm measured words had laid a huge guilt trip on Jo.  
"You have to tell John that you'll be there for John, especially when he gets back"  
"That's obvious but that'll be no comfort to him." Came Jo's snappy comeback.  
"Just how strong is John, both personally and in the public arena?" Karen pursued.  
This brought up Jo short. It was clever of Karen to bracket both sides of John so neatly together.  
"I don't know, Karen." She confessed. "I've taken for granted how bold, so resolute he is in standing up to the establishment. But this is George you're talking about, Karen. You know how close they have become, after being at odds with each other. This couldn't have come at a worse time. Just when John has found some stability in his life, along this comes like some cruel trick of fate to taunt him"  
"Sometimes people surprise you, Jo. At least that has been my experience as a nurse. I got out of the profession because the bad experiences just built up in my mind and became harder and harder to live with. At least that's the way I thought when I was younger"  
Jo kept quiet as she watched Karen edge her way forward, as if she had been blindfolded. Only feel and intuition seemed to be directing her feet forward. "Don't underestimate John. He is stronger than you think and sometimes than even he thinks. You must have seen it for yourself." Karen said softly in slow mellow tones. "Sometimes, Karen." Jo answered at last in stiff grudging tones.  
"Then what is it that you're afraid of"  
There was another long silence as the conflict of emotion played all over Jo's face "I'm afraid that he'll do something reckless and self destructive while he's away"  
"So when he's back, he'll be safer as he's on home territory and that is something you can deal with"  
"Something like that"  
"It is a risk but you have to take. Don't forget, George is having her operation tomorrow"  
"There's another problem." Jo finally revealed." George has been telling me not to tell John. She's terrified that she'll lose her attractiveness to John. You know John's attitude to female beauty."

This brought Karen up short. She reached for her cigarette and before she was halfway through, saw her way through that argument. "I can understand how George is feeling, and I do not doubt for one minute what you say about John but surely George is repeating her mistake in another form in not seeking medical attention. John cannot be kept in the dark about something so vital to him when, at the very least, both of us know. I strongly advise you that this has run quite long enough. It simply cannot be left any longer. The clock is ticking. No matter how hard it is, you must go for it, Jo and phone John"  
"It sounds easy enough for you to say it. It's quite another matter for you to do it." Jo eventually found her voice rather ruefully and resentfully. Her head was starting to rule over her heart, but that made her feel uncomfortable. She couldn't help but think that Karen was giving her advice from the sidelines. It was she who would have to face up to it.  
"Let's face it, Jo. I can very easily see how the roles could be so easily reversed, and I would be arguing the other way"  
"You're right, Karen." Jo responded stiffly with a brief half smile of encouragement. She reached for another cigarette, half smoked it, and stubbed it out in Karen's ashtray. 'If you don't mind, I'll go home and sleep on it and phone John in the morning." She let a visibly tired Jo make her way out the door, poured herself a large glass of spirits and took the weight off her feet. She lay back in her chair exhausted by the intensity of the experience and in dealing so expertly with an incredibly delicate dilemma. If only dealing with her own life was as easy. 


	119. Chapter 119

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Nineteen

George hardly slept on the Monday night, slipping in and out of consciousness, drifting in and out of dreams that only served to frighten her further. What on earth was she doing here, she half wondered to herself? What had brought her to this? This hospital, this invading influence they called cancer? Her thoughts inevitably strayed to her father and to Charlie, knowing that neither of them knew yet. How would Daddy react to such a piece of news? She simply didn't know. She was all Daddy had left, and she knew enough to be aware that finding out that his only daughter had cancer would terrify him. She tried to keep her mind away from John, because she knew that she had been right not to tell him before the operation, but that didn't stop her wanting and needing his comforting arms and words of reassurance. What she wouldn't give to be held in his strong embrace right now wasn't worth contemplating. But John was far away, cloistered somewhere in Warwick University, entirely unaware of anything that was going on back home. 

At around eight on the Tuesday morning, George phoned Jo, wanting to speak to her one last time before the operation. This was just one of the advantages of private medicine, she thought to herself as she waited for Jo to answer, having a phone in one's room. "It's George," She said when Jo answered. "How did you sleep?" Jo asked, knowing how much hospital often didn't allow for such a luxury. "Not brilliantly," George said with a yawn. "I had a drink with Karen last night," Jo told her. "We were both agonising over whether or not we should tell John." "As he's not here, I'll assume you didn't," George said ruefully. "Much as we both might disagree with you," Jo said seriously. "That particular bombshell is your decision, and you are well within your rights to make the wrong one." "I wanted him here all day yesterday," George admitted miserably. "But I still think leaving it until there's no going back is the right thing to do." "I know," Jo said quietly, having felt George's need for John's presence, no matter how much she had pressed Jo into not telling him. "What time do you go under?" Jo asked, wanting to change the subject a little. "Twelve," George told her. "Though how long it'll take, I really have no idea." "I'll come and see you after court," Jo promised her. "You should be out by then." "I might not be all that with it though." 

When George realised that Jo was about to say goodbye a little while later, she did something that she had been vaguely thinking about all night, but which she hadn't entirely decided to do. This might be her last chance, her brain was telling her, her very last chance to tell Jo how she really felt about her. "Jo, before you go," She said, taking the plunge off the dock into the treacherously swirling water. "There's, erm, something I want to say." "I'm listening," Jo replied, not having the faintest idea of what was coming. "Just in case I don't come out of this," George said a little hesitantly. "I wanted you to know that I love you." Jo sat there at the other end of the phone absolutely stunned. She was swamped with feelings of extreme happiness, violent worry and every other feeling in between. But then one feeling rose up in her above everything else, anger. "No," She said almost hoarsely. "No way, George, that isn't something I want to hear from you, because it sounds far too much like goodbye, and that isn't something I want to even contemplate." "And I know that if I hadn't said it," George said with total calm. "I would be sincerely regretting it along with everything else." 

After she'd come off the phone to Jo, George took a very long shower, scrubbing every inch of her, till now, beautiful body. As she stood under the wonderfully hot spray, she didn't ever want to emerge. She was temporarily in limbo as the hot water ran down over her skin and through her hair, and staying right there seemed like the perfect solution to all her problems. But eventually realising that she would turn into a prune if she didn't switch off the shower, she got out, dried off, and stood in front of the full-length mirror on the outside of the wardrobe door in her room. This was the body she'd known for the last almost fifty years. She ran her hands over her waist and hips, feeling just how prominent the bones were, and how small her waist really was. She ran her hand over the flat plain of her abdomen, remembering how Charlie's growing existence had expanded it into the rounded globe of pregnancy. John had loved to rest his hand on her bump, feeling Charlie's tiny kicks, the light of pride for what they'd both created shining out of his eyes. Why did she have to fuck all that up quite so spectacularly, she thought to herself? Why couldn't she simply have been happy with making John happy, even though she herself had been dying inside? Giving herself a mental shake, she told herself that this was no time to be going back over too much of the past that she really couldn't alter. Then her attention turned to her small but still beautiful breasts. They weren't perfect by any means, but neither were anyone's after they'd breast fed a baby for several months, and when said person was approaching their fiftieth birthday. But they were still pretty, and relatively firm, with the darker skinned areolas rising to pert, pink nipples. John had always loved her nipples, the way he could make them harden so delightfully when he touched her, sucking them into diamond-cutting peaks being part of their usual lovemaking ritual. As she cupped a breast in each hand, she vividly remembered the time when Charlie was about two months old, and her breasts had become engorged and extremely sore from feeding her. George had tried expressing some milk, but she had been far too sore and frustrated for it to work. In his usual, innovative fashion, John had suggested suckling from her himself, and when he'd finally persuaded her that there was nothing wrong with it, she had groaned at the relief of pressure it had provided. 

"Taking one last look?" Came Tricia's voice as she tentatively put her head round the door. "Yes, and living in far too many memories for my own good." "I've brought you a clean gown," Tricia said as she moved into the room, holding up yet another white, shapeless article of clothing for George to put on. "And I've come to give you your premed." "I think I'm going to need it," George said as she fastened the gown at the back and slid back into her freshly made bed, and thinking that the relaxing drug that Tricia was about to give her, might just prove to be her mind's salvation. 

On the other side of London, Karen was sitting in her office, trying to get through the morning's e-mails, and not making much headway whatsoever. She was highly aware that the time of George's operation was fast approaching, and she couldn't help but think that she was doing John a grave injustice in not telling him where George was. But hadn't he done the same thing over her own son? Hadn't he kept knowledge of Ross's condition and location from her for months, until he was in fact dead? But that was no reason to do the same to him now. George had asked, no begged her not to tell John, which was the one and only reason why she was adhering to George's request. It wasn't her decision to make, and it wasn't for her to say what was the right thing to do in this situation because only George could know that for herself. 

At ten o'clock that morning, Neil arrived for their monthly meeting, where he would inform her about any new policies coming her way from area, and she would talk to him about any problems with either prisoners or staff. They were usually very amicable meetings, both of them floating ideas to make the running of Larkhall prison as smooth as possible. But as he sat opposite her, drinking his coffee as they went through the monthly accounts, Neil could see that Karen's mind really wasn't on the job this morning. She kept glancing at the clock, staring off into space, and then desperately trying to pick up the conversation again. "Karen, what's happened?" He asked without any preamble, watching as her eyes clouded with darkness yet again. "Sorry," She said sheepishly. "I'm not really with it this morning, am I?" "No," Neil agreed with her. "Which really isn't like you. So, I'll ask again, what's happened?" "It's nothing to do with work," She told him evasively, but he wasn't to be so easily deflected. "I can see that," He said, glancing at the pile of papers they were going through. "Or you'd have brought it up the minute I arrived." "Neil, much as I would love to tell you, I can't," She said regretfully. "Because I've got no idea who else knows." "And keeping it all locked up in here," Neil said gently, gesturing to her forehead. "Obviously isn't doing you any good. So, start talking." Lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag, even though she knew that he hated her smoking in what used to be his office, she put the source of all her current worry and frustration into words. "It's George. She has breast cancer." The words seemed to hang in the air between them, stopping time, shocking them both into a temporary silence. Neil just stared at her, not entirely sure what to say. George had been so happy and vibrant when he'd sung with her last summer, and she'd been so supportive of Karen, even though they'd then broken up and all the way through Barbara's trial, she had been the epitome of inner strength. "How, erm, just how ill is she?" Neil eventually asked, feeling that he had to say something, even if it did come out in less than his usually articulate fashion. "Well, she's having surgery for it today," Karen told him. "But how much of her they'll have to take away, we just don't know." After another moment's pause, she added, "I feel so useless," In a half-strangled voice that told him she was barely managing to keep a lid on her emotions. "I went to the hospital with her last week, which was when they decided she needed surgery, and I'll be there for her any time she needs me, but how much difference does that really make?" "It makes all the difference in the world," Neil told her emphatically. "Having a friend that you can rely on, in whatever circumstances, is possibly the most precious thing anyone can have, and don't you forget it. George might have John, and Jo, but that isn't going to stop her needing you, and any number of people who are special to her in the coming months." Taking another long drag of her cigarette, Karen desperately tried to rein in her feelings, to force them once again beneath their marble headstone of restraint. After giving her a moment or two to compose herself, Neil asked, "Have you done your rounds of this place yet today?" "No," Karen said with a slight shrug. "I was going to do them when you'd gone." "Come on," He said, getting to his feet, and thinking that Karen desperately needed some form of a distraction. "I'll do them with you, if you've no objection?" "None at all," Karen said, giving him a slightly shaky smile, and thinking that where once she had despised this man, with all his ideas for privatisation and so-called modernisation of the most outdated service in the public sector, she now valued him not only as a trusted colleague, but a friend, a true, sincere friend who was prepared to do what he could to make her life that little bit easier. 


	120. Chapter 120

Part One Hundred And Twenty

Jo had woken up, not at her sharpest after she had had a 'one off' lapse into drinking alone last night. Her rather bleary eyes focused on the whisky bottle whose level had dropped overnight more than she had cared to think. She had needed it to get through the evening and that night to block off the fear of phoning John. That was the last time she would fall off the wagon, she vowed. Karen had convinced her that she hadn't any alternative and that time was running out fast but that didn't make it easier to face phoning John when she awoke.

As Jo held her phone in her hand as George's final words hung on the air, she was both fearful for George's prospects, and felt incredible tenderness for her. The words were absolutely from her heart and she could feel the utter calm certainty that she was loved by her. The experience of her husband's death taught her not to have false confidence that all would turn out right but it made her vow to herself that come what may, she would remain there for her. It reminded her how precious life was. In a curious way, George's phone call had psyched her up to do what she had to do.

She looked at her watch and phoned Warwick University administration block. When she was told that John's first lecture wasn't till ten o'clock, she was faintly relieved that her first move had worked out fine but it put her on the spot that she would have to act now or never. What tipped the balance was that she couldn't face sweating it out through another day. There was no chance in hell that she would phone him up right in the middle of delivering a lecture. Besides, she had promised Karen that she would not further delay her call. Accordingly, with shaking hand, she picked up her mobile and, with nervous fingers, dialed up that very familiar number. She waited impatiently for the second to come for John to pick up the call. as much as she dreaded it.  
"Hello, Jo, to what do I owe a very pleasant call especially first thing in the morning? It is fortunate that my first lecture is late so that I can have a leisurely lie in"  
The poor man sounds so chirpy and happy, gulped Jo, her mouth dry with nerves. She hated to spoil his mood but it had to be done.  
"First of all, John, I must ask you if you have a comfortable chair and that you sit in it. You're going to need it"  
The sun smiled at John out of the window but Jo's last words made the air go chill. He obeyed Jo's words without question.  
"What do you mean, Jo? You make it sound as is you have something very serious on your mind"  
"You could say that."Jo replied, dipping her toe into the freezing cold water. She took a deep breath and plunged right in. "There's no easy way to say it, John. I have to tell you that George has been diagnosed as suffering from breast cancer"  
There was a dreadful silence on Jo's end of the phone conversation. It seemed to last an eternity. She was thankful she had taken her own advice and was sitting in an armchair herself. "Please say something John." She said at last. The words were the most stupid that she had ever said in her life but they were the best that she could come up with.  
"This must be some kind of mistake." A very faint voice sounded in Jo's ear, sounding disembodied, stripped of all the normal full body in John's voice.  
"I'm really, really sorry, John, but, believe me, there is no mistake. I would not dream of telling you something like this if there was the slightest chance of a mistake. I would love to tell you that I've got it wrong but I can't"  
"I don't understand"  
"Me neither, John but it has happened"  
"Why didn't I know about this before"  
"Because George kept this to herself and didn't tell anyone about this until recently"  
There was another long pause, which scared the wits out of her. At least thank God, John was still holding the phone call and hadn't cut the call off. At the other end of the phone call, John's blasted wits began to assimilate what Jo was saying and that he was starting to pull some threads of further question out of this total bombshell of an announcement.  
"How long has George been suffering from this…from this"  
"I hate to tell you, John but she has had it since Christmas. The hospital has confirmed it"  
"But this is absolutely appalling. I know enough to realize how dangerous the situation is"  
"John, take it easy. She's now in the care of the hospital. It's just that"  
As Jo's voice faded away, John immediately grasped the implications. He didn't dwell on that, he dared not do so, but he wanted more information. By some miracle, his voice had firmed up enough to start to deal with the situation. He wanted answers and fast.  
"How long have you known this, Jo"  
"Since last Thursday, John"  
"Why did you not tell me before"  
"Because I didn't know how to, for the similar reason that George couldn't bring herself to tell you, not because she is afraid of you but because she loves you too much and because she couldn't admit it to herself much less anyone else. It's crazy but what George has done makes sense in some kind of fashion"  
The sudden passion and sheer honesty of Jo's words were like a bucket of cold water thrown in his face. The impact of it stung his immediate senses, but it did have a curiously stabilizing effect on him. He could faintly sense the logic behind it but it was all too much, too soon to take in.  
"So how did you finally come to tell me? It couldn't have been easy for you"  
John heard himself saying. Some curiously dissociated part of his mind was beginning to see things through Jo's eyes. He felt as if he was part of the madness only that he would wake up as normal and find out that it was all a bad dream.  
"I went to get advice from Karen and she urged me to tell you straight away"  
"Karen"  
"Because she's a nurse. I wanted her opinion partly because she's a friend and to hand and partly because this is the sort of thing she's had to deal with professionally in her time"  
John saw the sense of this. He dared not ask any more questions.  
"You mentioned the hospital, Jo. Is George having any treatment"  
Jo hesitated before she spoke and john was attuned enough to realize that this foreshadowed news that was not going to be good.  
"Karen took George to the hospital last Thursday, and stayed with her the whole time as moral support. She had a thorough examination. I took her to hospital yesterday to have the operation today." "That quick?" It was not lost on John how quickly she was whipped into hospital though he took a crumb of comfort that Karen was with her. "The choice was wisely made"  
"I'll phone George then and offer her my love and support." John promptly added with his usual decisiveness of manner.  
Jo went white as she thought over the implications and instantly rejected the idea.  
"John, I don't think that would be the wisest course of action"  
"And why"  
"By my calculations, George won't have gone into the operating theatre. I just know that she won't be able to pluck up the courage to go through the operation if you contact her beforehand. I know above all else how worried George is about how she will look after the operation." There was a pause while John reflected upon the matter. Eventually he gave in but not without a precondition.  
"Hmm, perhaps you're right. In this case, you must promise to phone me as soon as you know the result of the operation, whatever the news might be. You must promise that"  
Jo had to agree reluctantly to John's wishes. She mentally squared the circle by considering that, after all, the surgeons were not anonymous faceless professionals in white coats. They were living breathing people whom she had met before and she put her faith in the hospital. It was like setting out to walk on water because you have been reassured that such a thing is possible. "I agree John, but in return, you must wait until you've finished your lectures for the day and then come home. I'll be there for you and we can properly talk. Promise me that"  
"Lectures…..?" John intoned in a far off voice. Since the start of the phone call, time had been suspended and with it that faculty for planning ahead. He could no more structure events in time than he could fly.  
"Yes, your lectures. This was another reason why I didn't phone you straightaway." Jo urged him in stronger tones. Her last point wasn't exactly an accurate description of her motives but it was undoubtedly true that John could not have stuck out staying at Warwick if he had known earlier.  
"All right, I'll manage somehow." John replied reluctantly. It was as well that he had been provident enough to write out the lecture the night and not improvised at the last minute. He might deliver it like an automaton but somehow he would pull through.  
"And promise, John, to look after yourself. George and I want to see you back home in one piece"  
"All right, Jo. I'd better get ready for my lecture. I'll see you later, Jo." John concluded in formal tones. As Jo put her mobile phone down, she realized that her wrist muscles hurt. She had been clenching the mobile in her hand. She lay back in sheer exhaustion.

Likewise, John lay back in his chair that Jo had thoughtfully advised him to sit in, a whole host of forgotten scenes poured themselves into his memory. By some unaccountable quirk, they appeared ready sorted into order. Even at a traumatic moment like this, some part of his faculties was in functioning order. He heard echoes of past voices, which took on a whole other meaning.

"Yes, I had noticed that making love didn't appear to be on your agenda at the moment, and I really couldn't say why. But that has absolutely nothing to do with why I slept with Connie Beauchamp." John shivered at the memory of his very measured, considered pronouncement. It was just as well that he had not repeated them to Helen's large brown, all seeing eyes and her razor sharp mind. Of course, it had everything to do with it, as he later half admitted under pressure of George's cross-examination. "I can't seem to keep you happy in bed any more, and no, that isn't your fault, it's mine." That memory scourged John with the mental pain that it inflicted. He held his head in his hands. Of course, his tolerance and understanding of women who went off sex once in a while was very meritorious in its way. It had happened before in his experience and he wasn't some randy self-centred teenager who took it as a personal affront. But this time, his tolerance amounted to a fatal lack of curiosity. He should have started asking questions. He should have taken steps to get to know. After all, wasn't his public persona so renowned for this, that particular quality that had placed him at the front of the pack in the legal profession despite the powers of the establishment? Images came back to his mind of the night he and George had slept together. It had given him some kind of absolution at the time for his previous unpardonable behaviour towards her. What he couldn't work out was how his fingers had failed to detect the lump on George's breast. Surely he would have spotted it? In every way, his intelligence and perceptiveness had let him down badly.

The final memory that played itself back to him was the next day and the message on the computer screen that George had left him. "But now I need some time, time to sort myself out, and to deal with that thing I can't discuss with you, which I promise you isn't a pregnancy. I need you to allow me this time apart from you, because having your reaction to cope with as well as my own would be far too difficult"  
What conclusions had he drawn from this, he wondered. He had supposed that the problem was in some way psychological, somehow in the same area as her earlier inability to feel love for their daughter. Once again, he had been wide of the mark and had continued to compound his mistakes. " You've got no idea just how beautiful the two of you were, and that reminded me with all the finesse of a punch to the jaw, that I am ten years older than her, and not nearly so attractive." He should know of old, George's elliptical way of speaking that there was more to it than the plain words. In the back of her mind, George had foreseen what would happen and the secondary meaning of George's words finally became clear. Tears came to John's eyes as the full impact of George's generosity of spirit hit home to him. Granted, she was tragically mistaken in covering up such a life threatening illness for so long but, given that, she so clearly wanted to protect John from her illness.

A further wave of tenderness extended itself towards Jo who had plucked up the courage to tell John the most dreadful news that could be conceived of and how sympathetically honest she had been in telling him. He couldn't be selfish in considering that he had the monopoly of emotional suffering. This was the curious consequence of the coming into being of their three-way relationship. Ordinarily, he might have been tempted into some recklessly self-destructive behaviour. He could not do that now. He had too many responsibilities now.

He grasped at one crumb of comfort. He had known enough to realize that George's behaviour hadn't made sense. At least everything was now made terrifyingly clear, and he supposed that he was grateful for it. After all, he had always preferred enlightenment over happy ignorance. He did not know how he could get through the day until he got home. All he knew was that he had to try his best. 


	121. Chapter 121

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Twenty One

Well, here she was, George thought as she was wheeled into the anaesthetic room, no going back, no ducking out. She was here to in all likelihood have her breast removed, and there wasn't a single, bloody thing she could do about it. "Having any last minute misgivings?" Zubin asked as he flushed the cannula in her right hand with saline. "Wouldn't you be," George demanded bitterly. "If it was one of your testicles?" "Probably," Zubin answered her mildly. "Sorry," George said quietly. "I shouldn't take this out on you." "Oh, feel free," Zubin said with a smile. "It can't be any worse than Connie on a bad day." George momentarily grinned, trying to picture how Zubin would react under Connie's all too predictable onslaught. "You couldn't have a better surgeon than the one you've got, you know," He added kindly. "Yes, so everyone keeps telling me," George said dryly. After a short, thoughtful silence, Zubin said, "This operation, it really is your best option, no matter how much you might not want to think so." "Yes, I know that too," George said dully. "Just make sure that Mr. Griffin doesn't remove my legendary temper at the same time, or the opposition will think I've had a personality bypass the next time I'm in court." "I don't think that would be possible, do you?" Zubin quipped. Then, giving her a conspiratorial smile, he added, "I'd have given anything to be a fly on the wall that day you ripped into Connie." "Yes, I'm sure you would," George said with a slight smile. "But I think you would have enjoyed it just a little too much." When he'd attached her to the cardiac monitor and set it going, so that she could hear the rhythmic beeps of her heartbeat, he began to move away in order to sort out the drugs he would need to keep her asleep for the required amount of time. But before he could, George caught at his hand, keeping him in place. "Zubin, please will you do something for me?" "If it is within my power to achieve it, yes," he said seriously. "If… If I don't wake up…" "You will wake up," Zubin tried to reassure her. "But if, I don't," George interrupted firmly, putting particular emphasis on the if. "Please will you tell John and Jo that I love them?" Realising just how much this obviously meant to her, Zubin promised her that he would. "You'll be able to tell them yourself," He said quietly. "Hopefully some time later this afternoon." As Ric and Tash appeared, dressed in scrubs, facemasks and gloves, Zubin told her to count down from ten, and when she was definitely asleep, he announced to all and sundry that she was ready for them to begin. 

"Right then," Ric said as he carefully moved aside the drapes and the cotton of George's gown. "We have an invasive lobular carcinoma in the lower left quadrant. So," He added to Tash who was acting as his registrar. "How do we begin?" "By beginning the incision at the site of the lobular part of the ducts," Tash replied confidently. "And extending it around the tumour, in preparation for removing as much of it as possible, before assessing how much healthy breast tissue may also have to go." "Good," Ric told her with a smile. "It certainly sounds as though I've taught you something over the years. Scalpel, please." As he delicately began making the incision, Zubin was forced to voice an opinion. "It seems such a shame, that such a beautiful body has to end up looking less than perfect." "I'll do my best," Ric assured him, the blade of the scalpel traversing George's skin, curving around the outer surface of the tumour. "I can't believe she left it so long before coming forward," Tash observed, as she held the edges of the wound open for Ric to inspect the interior. "She didn't, at least not without some serious prodding," Ric informed them. "It was Kay Scarpetta who told me about her, and then obviously persuaded George to attend the appointment she'd made for her." "Certainly sounds like something Kay would do," Zubin replied fondly. "She's really very pretty, your colleague from the States," Tash put in with a knowing smile. "And entirely untouchable where I or anyone else is concerned," Zubin informed her. "Kay's one of those self-sufficient people who doesn't need anyone to rely on for her own existence." "Sounds a bit like Diane," Ric commented thoughtfully. Then, on feeling the question hanging in the air, he added, "Oh, she may be married to Owen, but that doesn't mean she's entirely happy with the situation. Besides, Kay might have someone back home that you don't know about." "She's never mentioned one iota of her personal life," Zubin concluded. "So yes, you could be right." 

"Tash, come round here," Ric invited. "And see how much of the tumour you can remove with the current incision." As Tash joined him on the left-hand side of the table, and took the scalpel from him, her thoughts strayed back to her own lump that she'd found almost six years ago now, and which had thankfully turned out to be nothing more catastrophic than a benign cyst. But she too had felt the fear, the terror, the total denial that it could be something more serious. She might have ignored it indefinitely, had Kirstie not forced her into seeking help. Forcing her thoughts back to the job in hand, she said, "I'll need the diathermy on standby. The tumour's attached to a couple of large blood vessels, and she can hardly afford a major bleed at this stage." As he handed her the hand held instrument for cauterising blood vessels, Ric reflected that here was the serious potential for a consultant, in the not too distant future. 

After removing as much of the tumour that she could see through the neat incision into a kidney dish, Tash moved aside to allow Ric to continue. "There's still plenty of it left in there," She said as she moved aside. "You're going to have to go for a full radical mastectomy." Examining the wound for himself, Ric was forced to agree that she was right. "Okay," He said, picking up a fresh scalpel. "I'm extending the incision to take in the site for the removal of the axillary lymphnodes, which we will send off for a frozen section and immediate histology." The blade moved swiftly but delicately from the original incision, extending it to under George's left arm. After removing the lymphnodes, he handed them to the theatre nurse and said, "Get that off to the lab straight away," And then began removing the rest of the tumour, very carefully, piece by piece. 

When he next glanced up at the clock on the theatre wall, he saw that it was one-thirty, and they'd been going at this for an hour and a half. After removing as much as he could see and feel of the original tumour, he took a sample of what looked like healthy breast tissue, and ordered an immediate biopsy to be done without delay. "I don't want to go any further, until we know how much of this is healthy, and how much of it isn't," He explained. "I did promise her that I would try to save as much of her healthy breast tissue as possible. So, we wait until we know the results, and if it takes any longer than half an hour," He added to the theatre sister. "Tell the labs that I will want to know why." "Throwing your weight around for once, Mr. Griffin," Tash lightly teased him as the theatre sister scuttled hurriedly out of the room. "Well, perhaps I'm doing an old friend a favour," Ric admitted with a shrug. "Oh, you mean the woman who accompanied Ms Channing to her appointment," Tash filled in for Zubin's benefit. "An old flame of yours, was she?" "Something like that," Ric admitted a little uncomfortably. "Karen Betts. She nursed on my ward for about six years, nearly fifteen years ago now." "I met her just before Barbara Mills' trial," Zubin said thoughtfully. "She didn't look like one of your old cast offs." "You talk as though there have been hundreds of them," Ric said, sounding aggrieved. "Well, four marriages does count for a fair few," Zubin quipped back. "So, do you plan to pick up where you left off?" "Who knows," Ric said lightly. "I may at the very least try and do some catching up with her at some point." "Well, anything's better than you lusting after Connie," Zubin said, sounding relieved. "Oh, now, come on, Zubin," Tash protested mildly. "You can't blame anyone for lusting after Mrs. Beauchamp." "You're both as bad as each other," Zubin replied disgustedly, Tash's sexual preferences never having bothered him in the slightest. 

A good while later when a phone call came from the histology labs downstairs, Zubin took the call. When he laid the receiver back in its cradle, they all waited for the news. "The tissue sampled you sent is malignant," He said regretfully. "So, a full radical mastectomy it is," Ric said just as regretfully, part of him hating the fact that he had to so destroy this beautiful body before him, even though it would mean doing his best to eventually save her life. As Ric worked, removing the rest of the breast tissue, including the nipple and areola, plus a sizeable portion of the pectoral muscle on the chest wall, Tash handed him instruments when he asked for them, and generally tried to be of as much help as possible. "You do know," She said carefully at one point. "That only one of her partners knows where she is and what is happening to her?" "Hang on," Zubin put in before Ric could say a word. "I've seen Jo Mills in passing, so it can't be her. Are you seriously telling me," He said in horrified realisation. "That the judge has absolutely no idea what is happening to one of the most precious things in his life?" "According to Tricia," Tash filled in for him. "Oh, great," Zubin said disgustedly. "Just you wait till he does find out, and then I can promise you, we'll all be in for the roasting of our lives." "You sound as though you're talking from experience," Ric said, not looking up from his task. "Oh, I am," Zubin said with mounting incredulity. "You should have seen him in court. He asked more questions than the defence and prosecution combined. He's going to want to know everything from why she didn't come forward sooner, to why we've taken away so much of her." "And we'll do our best to answer," Ric said calmly. "Besides," He added with a thought. "How did you know she had two lovers anyway?" "I met with George and Jo on a number of occasions whilst preparing for that trial," Zubin explained. "And although it was never obvious, there was something between them that signified a depth of feeling I've certainly never seen between you and any of your wives." "Well, well, Professor Khan, I didn't know you had it in you," Tash responded with a broad smile. Ignoring her jibe, Zubin continued his explanation. "And the tension that existed between George and the judge in court, sexual or otherwise, can only have come from two people who know far too much about each other's psyches. Anyway, Kay told me that they were once married." "And Tricia told me that they're all involved in some sort of three-way relationship. It's certainly innovative," Tash added with a smile. 

When Ric was in the process of removing as little of the muscle on the chest wall as possible, Zubin drew his attention to something he really didn't need. "Look at her wave patterns," He said, gesturing to the cardiac monitor. "They're all over the place." George's heartbeat was erratic, irregular, not at all what it should have been. "Find Mrs. Beauchamp and get her in here right now," Zubin ordered the theatre sister. "I'm not taking any risks with this patient." Laying the scalpel down on the tray of already used instruments, Ric minutely examined the interior of the wound he had created, the final incision running in a straight line from breast bone to under George's arm. There was no major bleed, no clot, nothing that could account for the out of time beeps coming from the monitor. 

When Connie pushed her way through the heavy swing doors, she said, "You're lucky, I was just grabbing a coffee." Then, as she moved round to stand next to Tash opposite Ric, she asked, "What have we got?" "This is…" Zubin began. "…George Channing, yes, so I see," Connie finished for him as she stared down into George's unconscious face. "So," She mused quietly. "She finally did come forward after all." "Excuse me," Ric said, looking sharply at her. "Are you telling me that you know this patient?" "I should say so," Connie replied with a tight smile. "But that's not important," She added, suddenly regaining her usual professional mask. "Why do you require my assistance?" "Just look at her ECG," Zubin said, directing her attention to the monitor. "She has minor arrhythmias," Connie stated after giving the monitor a glance. "Give her some Adenosine which should stabilise her output. Come on, Zubin, an SHO would know to do that." "I don't want to take any risks with her," Zubin said quietly, feeling more than a little stupid for worrying so much. "No," Connie agreed with him sombrely. "Nor do I." 

Once the Adenosine had been given, and George's heartbeat had begun to stabilise, Connie moved round the table to stand next to Ric. "Was a full radical mastectomy absolutely necessary?" She asked as she watched his delicate movements. "Do you think I'd be doing it if it wasn't?" Ric countered back. "No, of course not," Connie replied, knowing that her question had been unnecessary. "I just know how frightened of it she was, that's all. She said that every minute of every day that wasn't spent thinking about something else, was haunted by what may eventually be done to her." "Are you seriously telling me," Zubin began, his voice steadily rising. "That you've known about this for some considerable time?" "Yes," Connie said regretfully. "I found out about it during the trial." "And didn't you tell her what she was risking by not doing something about it?" Zubin railed at her, always happiest when he could inhabit the moral high ground. "Oh, grow up, Zubin, of course I did," Connie replied stonily. "What did you expect me to do, have her sectioned under the Mental Health Act, and force her to have treatment then and there?" "It might have helped her if you had," Zubin replied just as icily, though he knew this hadn't been even a remote possibility. "Connie, Zubin, the pair of you, drop it," Ric ordered them curtly. "And someone try and find Carlos, please, it's time for him to do his stuff." "You'll be lucky," Connie commented as she replaced her mask of indifference. "He's been called back to St. Mary's on an emergency." "Oh, well," Ric said philosophically. "Ms Channing will have to rely on my own skill of needle-work." "I'm sure it will suffice," Connie replied, trying to give him her own particular brand of reassurance. 

Connie was almost mesmerised as she watched Ric deftly stitching together the wound he had created, leaving the left side of George's chest as flat as the day she was born. He implanted a chest drain on the way, as it was known that fluid could accumulate under the skin after such a radical procedure. Glancing up at Connie, he took in her slightly sorrowful gaze as she looked down on what George now had left, just a flat expanse of skin with a scar running from the centre of her chest to under her arm. "It really was the only thing we could do," He said to her quietly. "I know," Connie agreed regretfully. "That isn't going to make it any easier for her though, is it." 


	122. Chapter 122

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Twenty Two

When Jo came out of court at about three-thirty, she drove straight over to the hospital, all the time wondering if George was all right. She'd had to force herself to keep her mind on the job today, something that she hoped her client hadn't noticed. When she arrived at the hospital, and made her way up to the ward where George was, there seemed to be a feeling of activity that there hadn't been yesterday morning when she'd brought George in. Not seeing anyone at the desk, she followed the corridor to George's room, and found it to be the centre of attention from what was surely too many people. Three doctors plus the nurse of yesterday were clustered around George's bed, adjusting various pieces of equipment. On glancing up and seeing her stood in the doorway watching them, Zubin invited her in. "Jo," He said, gesturing her over. "You're just in time. We haven't long come out of theatre." As Jo moved over to the bed, the others looked up at her. "This is Ric Griffin," Zubin introduced. "Tricia Williams and," he slightly hesitated. "I believe you know Connie Beauchamp." As Jo's eyes met Connie's, she couldn't help but remember the roasting George had given this woman weeks before. "Yes," She said quietly, her eyes immediately going back to George. "How did it go?" "I'm afraid we had to remove her entire left breast," Ric told her regretfully. "Does she know?" Jo asked, trying to suppress her own feelings for the moment. "She hasn't fully woken up yet," Zubin explained. "So no, she doesn't, though she did always know that it was a distinct possibility. George has been given some pain relief, though this can be adjusted if necessary when she wakes up." After attaching George to the cardiac monitor and switching it on, so that the regular beeps now permeated the room, Connie moved towards the door. "Find me when the judge arrives," She said as she left. "We will," Ric called after her, and Jo realised that by the simple presence of Connie Beauchamp, there was something here that as yet, they weren't telling her. As Zubin connected George to yet another piece of equipment, he asked Jo, "Will the judge be joining us at some point soon?" "He's got to drive back from Warwick," Jo told him, realising that George had obviously been fairly frank as regards their relationship. "So he should be here some time after six." "Then perhaps it would be best to leave all the questions till he arrives." "Yes," Jo agreed, knowing that John was about to put everyone concerned well and truly through the third degree. 

When everyone had gone, Jo moved round to the side of the bed where there was a chair, taking George's right hand in hers as she sat down. It was only now that she took in the quiet though regular beeps of the cardiac monitor, and saw the pads and leads attached to George's chest. She had a blood pressure cuff at the top of her right arm, that automatically inflated every fifteen minutes. She had needles in the back of both hands, one leading from a drip, and the other to a pump of some sort that Jo didn't recognise. George was lying on her back, with the sheets pulled up around her shoulders. But as Jo's gaze couldn't help being drawn downwards, she couldn't miss the mound of dressings and chest drain under the gown, which looked nothing like the normal, healthy breast on the other side. Now that she was alone, with a temporarily sleeping George, she could allow her own tears to surface. She made no sound as she cried, but the grief for what George had already gone through, and what she would undoubtedly go through in the coming months, tore at her insides like a red hot poker. She inwardly raged at the unfairness of it all, just as she had with her husband. All she could do, was to pray that George's disease wouldn't have the same outcome. 

As she sat there, with the tears running silently down her cheeks, one of them landed on George's hand that she was gently cradling between her own. George had become gradually aware of Jo's presence, her touch being instantly recognisable. But when she felt the warmth of a tear landing on her skin, she tried to muster up the energy to speak. "Darling, don't cry," She said, her voice deep and husky from the anaesthetic. Instantly, Jo was roused out of her introspection. "I didn't know you were awake," She said, digging in her jacket pocket for a tissue to wipe her eyes. "Getting there," George replied sluggishly. "How do you feel?" Jo asked, wanting to put off George's inevitable question for as long as possible. "Sleepy," George replied, her brain gradually creeping towards the question she almost didn't want to ask. "How did it go?" Were the words she eventually came up with. Having pressed the call bell as soon as George had woken up, Jo was heartily relieved to see Tash coming into the room, as this meant that she, Jo, didn't have to answer that particular question. "I see you're awake," Tash said as she appeared. "How do you feel?" "As though I'd quite like the answer to my question," George replied, sounding not her usually determined self in her weakened state. "So, perhaps you can tell me how it went, as Jo appears to want to avoid doing that." "I'm afraid we had to remove your entire breast," Tash told her quietly, hating this part of her job where she was forced to impart very difficult pieces of bad news. George's eyes screwed up in anguish, as she hadn't entirely wanted to believe they would do this. "No," She said, the tears rising to her eyes, her exclamation pleading with Tash to be wrong. "I'm sorry," Tash replied, knowing that if the same had ever happened to her, she would be feeling the same sense of disbelief and betrayal. "Why?" George demanded weakly, unable to prevent the tears from sliding down her cheeks. "Why did you have to take it all?" Trying to sit up, she cried out as the movement pulled at her stitches. "George, you need to try to calm down," Tash said persuasively, though seeing that this was a pretty futile request. "We honestly didn't have any choice," She continued, gently putting her hands on George's shoulders to make her lie still. "That tumour you had inside you, had invaded your entire breast, which is why we removed it. Now, I need you to lie still, because you have a chest drain in situ to collect any fluid from the site of the wound." As she glanced at the monitor, Tash saw that George's heartbeat was again traversing its former erratic wavy line, almost certainly due to George's distress. Going swiftly to the door, she put her head out and called down the corridor for Zubin. When he came into the room, Tash simply gestured at the monitor, not needing to say anything. "George," He said, speaking directly to her. "Do you know where you are?" "Yes," She answered through her tears. "I'm in hell." "On some days in this place, I could agree with you," Zubin replied mildly. "Now, I need you to calm down, because your heart is beating a little out of time. Can you do that for me?" "Why, Zubin, why?" She asked him, wanting a frank and honest answer to this question. "Because in order to give you the best chance at survival," Zubin told her honestly. "It was the best course of action to be taken under the circumstances. I see that your oxygen saturation is a bit on the low side, so I want you to put on this mask, and just breathe nice and slowly." He had pulled down the oxygen mask and now lowered it over George's face. "Jo's right here," He added, trying to make her feel better. "And I'm going to keep checking up on you. Now, how's the pain?" "Fine," George mumbled from beneath the mask. "If it gets any worse, you just press this button," he told her, moving her left hand to show her where the control lay on top of the bedclothes. "And if it becomes unmanageable, just let me know." 

As John drove onto the M40 late that afternoon, he felt a sense of relief that he had completed his lectures for the day. He had made his excuses, and they wouldn't be expecting him back for that session of lectures, meaning that he could concentrate on George and court. He knew that his mind had been elsewhere during that last lecture, but he just couldn't help it. Why in god's name hadn't she told him? Why had she kept something so terrifying, so horrific to herself, for god's sake? It hurt him with almost a physical pain that he hadn't investigated further, that he hadn't questioned her in greater detail about what she was keeping from him. But he supposed that all he could do now was to help her through it, and to be as supportive as possible. 

When the call came from Jo at around five, he was cruising almost effortlessly down the motorway, his hands resting casually on the wheel. "Where are you?" Jo asked when he answered, leaving the phone on hands free as he was driving. "Cruising down the M40," He told her. "Look out for speed cameras," She told him affectionately, knowing of his tendency to drive far too fast when under stress. "How is she?" John asked, wanting to put this off no longer. "She woke up long enough to find out what they'd done, and now she's asleep again, which is probably the best thing in the circumstances. John, they had to take away her entire left breast." John was silent, just trying to process this latest piece of news. He'd known it might be possible, but to hear it spelt out in such stark terms, it almost made his brain freeze for a moment. His George, his beautiful, exquisitely proportioned George, she no longer had two breasts, because one of them had been invaded by the most corrosive of all diseases. "John?" Jo's voice broke in on his thoughts. "How did she take it?" He asked, trying to regain his equilibrium. "She was very upset, as you might imagine." John could hear in Jo's voice that she also had been crying. "Where are you?" He asked. "Outside, smoking," She said, and he could now hear the occasional sound of her taking a drag. "Why did she do it, Jo?" He suddenly asked. "Why did she keep something like this from me?" "Only George can answer that for you, John," Jo told him gently. "Oh, sure," John said disgustedly. "But you know though, don't you." "John, whether I do or I don't, really isn't the issue. George's actions aren't something I can fully explain to you, because that is something between the two of you, something that only the two of you should talk about." "I need to know," He said quietly, and she could no more deny him this than she could anything else at this moment. "All right," She conceded after a moment. "But you're not going to like it." "I'm listening," he encouraged, wondering what on earth she was about to tell him. "George, is terrified of how she is going to look with only one breast, as anyone would be in her situation. She is further terrified, that you will no-longer be able to find her in the least attractive, and that this will by extension have a very detrimental effect on your relationship with her." Jo had spoken in almost formal, legal terms, in an attempt to try and minimise the blow, but John was speechless. Never, not in a million years would he leave George just because her looks might change. If they remained together long enough, all their looks would change with age, not just hers. After a while, Jo asked, "Are you all right?" John laughed bitterly. "Oh, I'm fine. I've just discovered that one of the women I love, thinks me fickle enough to abandon her, just at the point when she needs me the most. Really gratifying that is, Jo, I can tell you. But after all, I did ask, so what else did I really expect?" "John, if I was in her position, I might very well feel the same," Jo threw back at him, her own nerves also at screaming point. "Oh, well done, Jo," He said as he overtook someone who was travelling at no more than the speed limit. "Shoot me with both barrels, why don't you." "John, this is neither the time nor the place," Jo said quietly, trying to calm them both down. "Perhaps not," He conceded. "But this conversation isn't over, not by any means." 

When John arrived at the hospital at around six-thirty, he followed the directions Jo had given him up to the ward where George was. He had seen Jo's car in the car park, and it somehow comforted him that she was obviously still here with George. When he introduced himself at the desk, Staff nurse Tricia Williams took him along to George's room, explaining that George would probably still be asleep. As they walked down the corridor, John said, "Please would you inform Mr. Griffin and Professor Khan that I would like to speak to them at their earliest convenience?" "Yes, of course," Tricia replied. "They're in theatre at the moment, but they shouldn't be too long." Opening the door of George's room, she showed John in and tactfully left them to it. When John saw the amount of equipment that George was hooked up to, his eyebrows soared. "It does look a bit daunting, doesn't it," Came Jo's soft acknowledgement, as she rose from the chair beside the bed and walked over to him. "Is she still asleep?" John asked quietly, unable to take his eyes off the figure in the bed who currently looked very different from the George he knew and loved. "Yes," Jo said as she put her arms round him. "Though now that you're here, I doubt she'll stay like that for long." John returned her embrace, needing to feel something familiar, something tangibly still his. She kissed him softly, seeing that he needed her gentle comfort, and wanting to make up for the brief argument they'd had earlier. When they finally parted, Jo asked, "Would you like me to go and find you a coffee?" "A cup of tea might be nice," He said, realising that she wanted to give him some time alone with George. 

When Jo had gone, John moved over to sit in the vacated chair. It was only now that he began to examine everything he could immediately identify, the most prominent being the oxygen mask over her face. He listened to the regular beeps of the monitor, wondering just how they'd come to this, and not knowing what on earth he could do to help George through it. Taking her right hand in his, he was careful not to move the needle that was in the back of it, presumably feeding her some sort of fluid or antibiotic. He gently ran his thumb over her knuckles, wanting in some way to reassure her that he was here and that he loved her. When her words finally came, the voice didn't sound like hers, being deprived of all its usual confidence, and being slightly muffled by the oxygen mask. "What are you doing here?" She asked, with her eyes still shut from what he could see. "I'm here because I think you need me to be," He answered her quietly. "That and trying to find some answers." After a few moment's silence, when he thought she might have gone back to sleep, he asked, "How did you know it was me?" "I'd recognise that hand anywhere," She said, her voice sounding deeper, sluggish, and altogether different because of the anaesthetic. George found that she simply didn't know what to say to him. She almost felt as though she'd betrayed him in keeping this from him, but what else could she seriously have done? "I'm sorry," She said after another long pause, and he could hear the threat of tears in her voice. "Hey," He said quietly, reaching over to gently touch her cheek. "I might be absolutely furious with you tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, but not now." "I didn't know how to tell you," She tried to explain, the tears leaking out from under the mask. "Shh, I know," He said, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, gently removing the mask and wiping her eyes. "Don't cry, or you'll have me in trouble with the nurses." "I think they're used to it by now," George replied, giving him a watery smile. 

Before Jo could return with a cup of tea for him, Tricia put her head round the door. "Mr. Justice Deed, Mr. Griffin and Professor Khan can see you now." Then, glancing over at George, she said, "And that mask is supposed to be kept on." "Please will you give us a minute, Tricia?" George asked, making no comment on the fact that she would put the mask back on just as soon as John had left. Backing out of the room, Tricia waited for him. "I'd quite like you to give me a cuddle," She told him tiredly. "But I think it would hurt too much." Gently cupping her face between his hands, he carefully leaned over and kissed her, their lips gently entwining, and George taking an enormous amount of comfort at having him so close. "I love you," he told her when their lips finally parted. "I love you too," She said, not wanting him to ever leave her again. 

When he walked out of the room, Tricia led him towards the ward office, where Jo was waiting for him with Professor Khan, whom he recognised, and Ric Griffin whom he didn't. As Ric moved forward to introduce himself, Tricia tactfully left, closing the door behind her. As Jo and John took seats opposite them, both Ric and Zubin could see that the man before them was clearly tired, highly concerned, and not in the mood for pointless platitudes. "When I examined Ms Channing last Thursday," Ric began. "I found a tumour in a significant state of growth and progression, by giving her a physical examination, along with a mammogram and a fine needle biopsy. She claims to have found this tumour around Christmas time, though I would hazard a guess that she unknowingly had it much longer than this. The only course of action open to me, was to admit her as quickly as possible, and to remove the tumour via a modified radical mastectomy. This not only involved the removal of the tumour itself, but also the entirety of the tissue of her left breast, plus the lymphnodes from under her arm. We sent the tumour and the lymphnodes to the lab for further investigation, which told us that all of the breast tissue was infected. I can honestly say that if I had been able to do anything differently, I would have done, but the removal of her entire breast was unavoidable." As John tried to assymilate all these facts in his mind, the door opened, admitting a third member of the medical profession into their midst. Looking over at her, John was momentarily stunned. "Mrs. Beauchamp," He eventually said as she moved to sit down near them. "Mr. Justice Deed," She replied, her eyes meeting his for the first time since they had been caught in post-coital afterglow in his chambers. "You're timing is impeccable, Connie," Ric told her, trying to defuse the undercurrent of recognition he could feel between her and the judge. "To further help you understand what happened during Ms Channing's surgery," Ric continued. "It might help you to know that Professor Khan here was our anaesthetist this afternoon." "Whilst Mr. Griffin was removing the remaining breast tissue," Zubin explained. "Ms Channing began suffering from an irregular heartbeat, which is why I asked for the assistance of Mrs. Beauchamp." "She was suffering from what we call minor arrhythmias," Connie said, taking over. "Which basically means that the heart is beating out of time." "Why would this happen?" John asked, finding his voice for the first time during this very difficult conversation. "There could be a number of reasons," Connie said, trying to soften the blow that she knew was coming. "A General anaesthetic can sometimes affect people in this way, and Ms Channing is a smoker, an added factor that certainly wouldn't have helped." "I sense there's more," John persisted, wanting to get to the truth as quickly as possible. "How aware are you of her leaning towards Anorexia?" Connie asked quietly, immediately seeing that this was no surprise to either John or Jo. "I am as aware of that as it is possible to be," John replied darkly. "As is Jo." "The heart ordinarily requires a regular supply of protein in order to function properly," Connie explained. "And the fact that Ms Channing has not been getting a sufficient supply of any nutrient, but most importantly that of protein, could far too easily account for her arrhythmia both in theatre and after she woke up this afternoon. Had time been an option in her case, I know that both myself and Professor Khan would have recommended a course of re-feeding her before attempting such major surgery, in order to minimise this possibility." "Where does all this leave her now?" John asked, his worry for George only increasing instead of subsiding in the face of their explanations. "Ms Channing will stay with us for the next few days," Ric told them. "To allow her to partially recover from the surgery. I estimate that she will be ready to go home some time over the weekend, and I have recommended to her that she take at least the next week off work to regain her strength for the battle ahead. What you both need to understand, is that surgery doesn't mean that the cancer is gone. Ms Channing will require a course of chemotherapy, and depending on how well she responds to it, possibly a course of radiotherapy after that. I want to give her about a fortnight before starting this, as she will need all the strength she can muster to get through it. Chemotherapy is a difficult, stressful, and highly emotional form of post-operative treatment, and she will therefore need all the support she can get." After taking a few minutes' silence to process all this information, John asked, "What, erm, what do we do to help her now?" "Tell her that you love her," Ric said perfectly seriously. "Try to ensure that she maintains a healthy diet, which in view of her eating disorder may not be an easy task, and if she feels she wants it, try to accompany her to any future appointments. This is especially important during the chemotherapy, as it will knock her emotionally and hormonally for six. Whether she does want you to be there with her through that, only she can say. Some do and some don't. Other than that, the only thing any of us can suggest, is to try not to take any emotional outbursts that may be aimed at either one of you, too much to heart. She will have a lot of anger and a lot of fear locked up inside her, and that does need to come out." "What about her pain?" Jo asked, finally able to get a word in. "I have put her on a pump for Patient controlled Analgesia," Zubin explained. "She cannot accidentally overdose with it, as it will only allow her a certain amount of pain relief every hour. This will be reviewed every few hours, along with everything else." "I want to monitor her heartbeat for the next day or so," Connie put in. "But after that, and if there is no change in the stable rhythm she has at the moment, that particular piece of equipment can be removed." 

When the little meeting dispersed, John said to Jo that he needed some fresh air. Jo said that she would go and sit with George, and he walked down the stairs and out towards the car park. After pacing about for a while, trying to put everything he had just been told into some sort of order, he sat down on one of the benches, wondering just where he was supposed to go from here. As the other two went over other patient files with Tricia, who was due to hand over to the night staff in a couple of hours, Connie walked thoughtfully along to the break room, half planning on making herself a mug of coffee. But as she passed the window, something outside caught her eye. As she stopped and looked, she could see John, sitting on one of the benches, not remotely acknowledging the late February chill. Her mind made up, Connie did make herself a mug of coffee, making a second for the thoughtful man outside as she did so. Hoping that nobody would see her with two mugs of coffee and start asking questions, Connie walked carefully down the stairs and out through a side door. John didn't seem to take any notice of her approach, not looking up until she stood before him. "I thought you could probably do with something warm out here," She said, handing him the mug of steaming liquid. "Thank you," he said, taking it from her. Sitting down next to him, Connie took a grateful swig from her own mug, grimacing at the taste of instant coffee, when she usually preferred Espresso. "Do you know something," John said after tasting his own scalding brew. "I only found out about all this today." "Good god," Connie said in total shock. "She really did keep it quiet, didn't she." Putting her mug down on the bench between them, Connie dug in her jacket pocket for her lighter and cigarettes, receiving a raised eyebrow from John when she lit up. After taking a fortifying drag, Connie took the plunge. "There's something you ought to know," She began. "Though I'll admit that it's probably more to give myself peace of mind than anything else." "You're not going to tell me that you knew about this too?" He said, it being no more than a throwaway comment. But looking fully into Connie's face, he saw that he'd hit the nail right on the head. "Yes," She said regretfully. "I found her examining it through her clothes, just before our little tryst in chambers." "Then why in god's name didn't you tell me?" He forcefully demanded of her. "John, I didn't even know you were friends with her, never mind that you were sleeping with her," Connie tried to justify herself. "And after being caught in flagrant like the prize whore I obviously was, didn't feel quite like the right time to say, 'oh, by the way, your lover is more than likely incubating breast cancer.'" After a thoughtful silence, John said, "A prize whore isn't how I would have described you." "Well, it's how I felt," Connie said disgustedly. "Mainly because I did know what she was hiding from you. I asked her, the next day, after she'd made such fine mincemeat of me in court if you knew, and she said no. I'd already screwed up her self-esteem quite enough already, so I wasn't about to also go and break a professional confidence." As Connie smoked and John drank his coffee, they were both submerged in their thoughts. But when John broke the silence, Connie's gaze again focussed on him. "How do I help her through this?" he asked, and she could see the pain and bewilderment shining out of his eyes. "Ric got that one absolutely right," She told him quietly. "The most important thing you can do, is to keep on assuring her that you love her, which I can see without a doubt that you do. Something she did say to me, after cross-examining me in court, was that the thought of what they might eventually have to do to her, was what terrified her most. So, now that the unthinkable has happened to her, she really is going to need both you and Jo, every step of the way. Now, what I suggest you do for tonight, is to go home, get some rest, and come back tomorrow when she will be more awake, and perhaps a little more ready to talk." As Connie flicked away her cigarette end and got to her feet, John saw Jo coming out of the main entrance and walking towards him. Knowing only too well of the conversation he was now going to have to have with her, John knew that rest was the last thing he would get this evening. 


	123. Chapter 123

Part One Hundred and Twenty Three

While John was away, George had subsided back to the necessary sleep that her body demanded, and her faint grip on Jo's hand relaxed its hold. She gently laid it next to her, and continued to look at that very familiar profile with her head laid gently on the soft white pillow. It struck her how unusual to see her with her eyelids closed, and not to see those brilliant blue eyes. Always, they sparked of mischievousness, anger, humour and life itself. Somehow, Jo's sharp ears had caught the light sounds of John's footfall behind her. Turning round, she took one look at John when he made his way back to the hospital wing.  
"You look cold"  
"Must be the time of the year. It's cleared my head anyway"  
Somehow, John's empty expressionless voice worried her. It was so unlike him. In turn, John became aware that the biting cold February air had cut him through to the bone. Back in the super heated hospital fug, he still felt chilled throughout, or was it an utter desolation of spirit in finding so much, so late being dumped on him emotionally. It was more than he could make real to himself, and the answers he had sought only addressed the surface perceptions. Somehow, the very clearly spoken words like 'needle biopsy' 'mastectomy' and 'mammogram' whirled round his head. He had not realized before the degree to which medical terminology came over as gobbledygook, designed to intimidate the average layman who came across its path. John turned away to stare at the windows opposite them, as a vague feeling of resentment swept through him as his only way to fend off a very disturbing feeling of professional and psychological weakness and vulnerability. He needed that focus of resentment.  
"You know that the surgeons will do their very best for George, John." Jo said softly, laying her fingers on his arm. She had seen a cold bleak expression settle on John's face in profile, and did her best to comfort him. "You're right, I was forgetting myself." Mumbled John. He looked again, and he could see the troubled expressions on the faces of Zubin, Ric and Connie. They were concerned professionals, just like any other. "It might be best to let Ms Channing rest." Tricia's voice softly spoke out of nowhere to John and Jo. Though she was no stranger to grieving patients, there was something in the badly self-controlled manner that struck a chord with her. John looked at his watch, and was startled to see that the time was past eight o clock. He didn't think that it was so late and realized that the nurses and doctors carried on while he had long since finished his working day.  
"I'm sorry if we're detaining you." John replied with his natural courtesy while Jo smiled formally at her. As they turned for the exit, both of them stole a final glance at George, strapped up to a mass of hospital machinery.

Somehow, they found their way back at the hospital car park and their will to further action temporarily deserted them.  
"What do we do now"  
"Your place or mine"  
"Yours"  
John was relieved. He was glad someone could make a decision. All that he knew was that he did not want to be alone. Presently, both cars were on the road, Jo tailing John's red and very certain rear headlights as his car drove by automatic habit. He was grateful for this, as his mind was starting to grapple with questions unasked and only the automatic pilot of driving home kept these at bay.

With customary politeness, John hung Jo's coat on the hook and they found themselves emotionally stranded inside his flat.  
"It's late. Do you want something to eat?" John offered tentatively, and Jo barely nodded in reply. While Jo sank back in the sofa, John busied himself with a 'throw it in the same pan' risotto, which managed to be economical with effort. It busied his hands to give him something to occupy his mind, and also looked presentable. It was later that they nibbled in a desultory fashion at the meal in silence, while barely touched glasses of white wine marked milestones upon the day. Automatically, Jo volunteered to wash the pots while John attempted to wash the tiredness of the day out of his body along with memories of the agonizingly slow drive home from Warwick and his pent up fear for George's life. Just as Jo dried a large saucepan and placed it on the side, a tired looking John appeared in the doorway.  
"There's something I must explain to you, Jo that I want to get off my mind"  
The way the words were wearily dragged out of John gave her a precarious yet tentative sense of confidence, and she briefly smiled. John headed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large measure of spirits.  
"Drink, Jo"  
"I had better not, John. It is doing me good to have a break"  
"I'm sorry, Jo. I wasn't thinking straight"  
John lowered himself into an armchair, and stretched himself full length while he gazed into space. He helped himself to a fair measure of spirits before straightening himself up, and suddenly spoke out of nowhere. "I've been thinking things over and I think I've worked out why George acted the way that she did." As John paused, Jo looked quizzically at him. John appeared to be stating the obvious and the kindest thing she felt that she could do was to let him continue at his own pace. For more puzzling moments than reality finally explained to her, John remained silent, his face immovable while he searched frantically for the words to frame his thoughts.  
"I can see now why George was terrified to tell me about the cancer. I suppose when I think about it, I have a not undeserved reputation for prizing a woman's beauty perhaps to a disproportionate degree. I had always considered that it was my way of showing some sort of appreciation for a woman." "You have said nothing that I or George couldn't have told you in two seconds flat, not to mention the evidence of all the nameless women down the years." John visibly winced at the sharp reminder of his past misdeeds. It came closer to home than Jo knew but she was to find out very soon. The prospect of telling her that terrified him. "Yes, but I had not considered that George could have felt so threatened. I took too much for granted. Now I can see why she was terrified to tell anyone. I pity her for being so scared to talk to anyone especially to us, who are closest to her." A feeling was growing within Jo that there was something that she was not grasping. Otherwise, what John was saying was only too self-evident.  
"Well, I'm glad you have seen the light at last"  
There was a peculiarly strained pause as the conversation petered out. John battled with that age-old inclination not to confess to his indiscretions unless he was forced to. Finally, he swallowed down his fears and gave voice.  
"That's not quite all, Jo. There's something you don't know." "What do you mean"  
"I have a confession to make"  
"Is it your usual sort of confession"  
"It's something I'm not particularly proud of." John started to say. "John, what is going on? Why are you talking in riddles"  
"Jo, I slept with Connie Beauchamp"  
"Connie Beauchamp, as in the Connie Beauchamp who appeared before you as a witness in the Barbara Mills trial?" Jo asked on automatic pilot to confirm that she had got her facts right, before an intense wave of shock and cold anger abruptly silenced her. She had winced at John's inept attempt to gild the lily.  
"What happened, John? I don't want to know the full sordid details but just enough so that I know what the hell went on"  
"It was when she first took the stand. I had this irresistible attraction for her and I gave way to temptation in I summoning her to my chambers. I'm not going to lie to myself or to you in denying what I was doing and, as I found out, she felt the same. What made it worse for both of us was that George walked in at the end of it"  
This is the same John, Jo's fury told her. Does he ever learn? Just how many chances can George and I keep giving him? Those phrases hammered their way round and round in her head but her anger was too intense for words. Instead, she glared at him, making John feel more wretched and unworthy of being included in the human race than ever before. "Why did you decide to tell me now, John?  
"I couldn't go on living a lie especially after I found out what was wrong with George. Now you can see how it hit me so hard when you told me the news. These days, I simply have to confess what I'd done rather than cover everything up until it has to come out." John's mixture of humble penitent confession and his pathetic attempt to cover himself with the rags and tatters of the moral high ground only made Jo's anger switch to white heat and boil over. John's vague allusion to his therapy went right past her.  
"What do you feel guilty most about, screwing that woman or knowing now that George was seriously ill when you did it"  
"Both." John said promptly. "I felt terrible at the time the way I hurt George and you but when you phone me up to tell me I could have died if that weren't so selfish"  
A tiny voice at the back of Jo's mind was starting to sift the data that John presented to her. At one time, John might have commented on her choice of language but, curiously enough, he didn't and made her aware that this scene was not the same scenes they had enacted in the past. A memory floated past her of George's acid words hanging in the air and the sheer venom with which she set about tying Connie up in knots.' Are you trying to suggest, that the higher echelons of a profession don't have highly suspect relationships with either their colleagues or members of the public, and that they don't in fact make a total mockery of the rules and regulations that govern such practices?' Now she knew what George was getting at. "Fine words, John," she almost sneered," but how did George take to your performance"  
"Incredibly badly and rightly so. She told me to stay away from her if I valued my life, was angry at my stupidity at a time when you were struggling with your own problems, and my foolishness when Sir Ian could have walked in instead of George, at letting everyone down who relied on me running the trial. She said everything but her own feelings………and that she had cancer. I find that the hardest of all to deal with right now"  
"Are you not aware of the sheer potential career suicide of sleeping with a witness before she has finished giving her evidence, John? I have seen you act recklessly in standing up for justice against the establishment which has some kind of logic but it is an entirely different matter to risk throwing away every good thing you have in your life, including your career."

John smiled limply at Jo. He could have got away with curtailing his confession at that point and sunk into Jo's forgiving arms but a twinge of conscience prodded him on to carry on to the very end whatever it cost him personally. He was used to taking very high risks in court out of his sense of justice and an adrenaline thrill of standing on the edge of the precipice. This situation was different, as he had nothing to sustain him except the feeling that he ought to act for the best. 

"Wait, there is more, Jo. George came over to talk to me. She wanted to know just why I had acted as I did. I must have felt more guilty than I knew at the time and I told her the truth, far too graphically than I should ever have done and I hurt her badly"  
"What exactly did you tell her, John?" Jo asked sharply.  
"I don't want to go into the details of it, Jo. Suffice it to say that I was needlessly cruel to her. I never intended to make comparisons with her and Connie.. It just came out that way"  
Instinctively, Jo let it go and continued to the next phase of her cross-examination. She had heard enough.  
"And then what"  
"I apologized and told her how much I love her and tried to tell her how much she means to me. I told her that I was worried about her but she wouldn't have it. The most she said was that she wasn't pregnant. I can now see that it was because she thought it was the last time she would be able to sleep with me as we did later that night. Anyway, before she left the next morning, she left a message on my computer. I can remember one part of it. It said 'But this time is different. I am finding it hard to forgive, and even harder to forget seeing you looking quite so good with Connie. You've got no idea just how beautiful the two of you were, and that reminded me with all the finesse of a punch to the jaw, that I am ten years older than her, and not nearly so attractive.' If only I'd known what was behind it all. I put it down to some needless sense of inferiority in relation to Connie, admittedly not helped by my badly chosen words"  
Jo had to pace round the room as it hurt her brain to assimilate such a catalogue of horrors while John lay back, feeling horrendously guilty. Eventually, she wheeled round and posed one final question. 

"Is that everything, John"  
"Everything"  
For the first time, John was able to look Jo in the eye. Previous to then, he had looked in every direction except straight at her and had fidgeted in an agitated fashion that was so unlike him. He was least like the suave, debonair man that he had always thought he was.  
There was a dreadfully long silence as Jo weighed everything up and eventually delivered judgment.

"You will not throw yourself on your sword in guilt, John. I forbid you to and so would George if she were here. You will have to struggle your way through this night until I have time to calm down in the morning and then you might get my sympathy and I only said might, John. Sorry as I feel for you, I also feel sorry for George and, yes, for myself. Don't ever get the idea that either George or I will endlessly forgive you. There has to be a limit. That's the way it goes."

John lay back limply in his armchair, totally emotionally annihilated by the contrast between the serene way his day had started and the emotional roller coaster that he had been subjected to. Just before she turned to go, her tall slim figure towered over him. Somehow he knew that Jo's anger was working its way through her system and, while she would not forget what had happened, she would ultimately forgive him on strict conditions and not just for George's sake. 


	124. Chapter 124

Part One Hundred and Twenty Four

Jo and John weren't the only friends of George, who were deeply preoccupied about her. In her more private moments, Karen had mulled over a lot of what she and George had said to each other at her first visit to hospital a week ago.

She had plunged back into the day-to-day demands of her own job, and one day after another had filled up her time with the latest of the interminable circulars of the Home Office. She sighed at the contents of them. They had the knack of being able to waffle on at length, without saying anything in concrete terms. One real problem for which she bore ultimately responsibility, was that Larkhall was filled up to capacity and that her wing governors were forced to become more and more resourceful in prison allocation. There were requirements in placing prisoners on basic, the 2s and the 3s and the dormitory wing but, within that structure, Karen knew that her wing governors were smart enough to separate and distance prisoners, who were known up have personality clashes and to try to accommodate the differing needs of the prisoners. This wasn't what Sylvia considered as 'prisoner's friend' behaviour but solid pragmatism. She could think of two instances of wing governors of widely differing backgrounds, Nikki and Frances, who saw eye to eye on this matter. At the end of the day, prison administration banged up against the obstinate and unyielding limitations of the blueprint of a long dead Victorian architect who first created Larkhall. Karen knew to her sorrow the reality that lay behind the public pronouncements about 'law and order.' When it came to the day-to-day drudge of spending money wisely, the Home Office as a whole had a suspicious, penny pinching, authoritarian view of what it thought Her Majesty's Prisons should and should not have. Not even Neil's guile in fighting her corner could save her from being under the cosh of financial restrictions, and the worst of it was that she had to divide up an inadequate budget to each wing governor to pass on the misery in turn.

At one time, it had not mattered a jot as to who was the Home Office minister, but there were several reasons why she had become more watchful. One reason was taking on the job as Governing Governor. It had exposed her to the bigger picture that Neil had previously shielded her from. Another factor that had changed her point of view was attending various conferences of which the ill-starred Howard League for Penal Reform was just one. Another was her exposure to the world of the judiciary, as exemplified by John, Jo and George, which gave her a separate strand in her education of the world about her. It all made her look closer at the present Home Secretary who was a pretty faceless, averagely ambitious minister. What irritated her was the way he demanded immediate action in a childish, unreasonable fashion. Accompanying this was a stream of propaganda that emanated from his office, complete with a small photograph. It might be thought that this was an attempt to personalize his touch but in reality, it was designed to set his stamp on every aspect of his empire and that everyone had to think like him. She shuddered at the prospect. The world was not like this, she groaned, at least not her part of the world.

She smoked an early morning cigarette as she meditated on her situation, and watched the smoke waft upwards to the ceiling. The sun was shining outside, and helped her natural optimism to come to her rescue. It was not like Karen to preoccupy herself with the negatives in her concerns with the world about her, but to take heart in the control that she did exercise in her working life. She knew that she had two contrasting abilities. On the one hand, she was a thorough administrator and, on the other hand, she got pleasure from working with other people. Another thing was that, except for a few exceptions, she could not have wished for better prison officers and wing governors. Given the mental fragility of some of the inmates, the prison was as peaceful as it was ever likely to get. When she reflected upon the matter, there was an enforced communal life, which was dependent upon the mix of strong personalities and those who tended to follow their lead. When she thought about it, she had seen this leadership work for good or bad, and she counted her blessings that she was well served right now. She had long vowed to herself that under no circumstances should she take that for granted.

As her mind wandered, it crossed her mind that there were various ways of taking a lead. Her thoughts began to stray into free association mode of operating as she sensed those two very warm, motherly sympathetic women who now held sway on G Wing, the two Julies. Without any overt display about it, they quietly influenced the others, knowing that they should draw on their long experience and sharp eyes, Denny first and foremost. It was very difficult to imagine the Julies as distinct from each other never mind separate but somehow, she focused in on Julie Saunders who was the stronger personality of the two of them. She needed that strength, Karen considered reflectively, when she had been diagnosed as suffering from breast cancer and had to come under the knife, just like…just like George. Instantly, a light bulb illuminated itself in her mind. There was part of the answer to George's problems right under her nose. She stubbed out her cigarette and reached for her phone to make arrangements to have her brought to her office. Abruptly, she changed her mind. If she wanted Julie Saunders' help, she had to take herself to the other woman's home ground.

Julie Saunders was busying herself, writing a letter to her David. At times like this, it almost felt that they were pen pals rather than mother and son. In her mind's eye, he was still the bright, enthusiastic teenager that he used to be, who did so well at school. He was beyond that now, if she had counted the years on her fingers correctly and must be out there working for a living. She wasn't sure that she had kept up with who he was these days. She dared not take any credit for how well he had turned out. In moments of sadness, it almost felt as if he had brought himself up, and that she had had very little to do with it. The fact that she had meant well for him didn't make up for what she had lost and made it far too easy to understand how Julie's children had become. It didn't pay to think too closely about things.

"Can I have a quiet word with you, Julie?" came Karen's mellow tones from behind her and made her jump.  
"Yeah, sure miss"  
"Do you mind if I take a seat on your bed"  
Instantly, Julie banished her own cares and concerns to the back of her mind and was all ears. She dismissed her first instinct in supposing that she had got into trouble over something, as she'd have been given the old summons. To make the place look spick and span, Julie hastily smoothed out the blankets with hands, that had practiced ease in making the material lie flat in an instant. She started making guesses as to why the other woman had really come to visit her. "Anytime, miss." "There's something that I want your advice on." Karen asked reflectively. "I don't want to be intrusive but I just wanted to know how you managed to come to terms with your breast cancer. I'm only asking as I have very good personal reasons for asking you"  
"You mean……?" Julie Saunders asked, mouth agape.  
"Not me, but someone close to me." Karen started to say and then stopped.  
"Anyone that I know?" Julie Johnson asked warily. She could see how hesitant and nervous Karen was in spilling the beans. She needed a little help to get there.  
"As it happens, you have seen her and you know about her. George Channing." "Oh my God. How bad is she." Julie gasped. A vivid memory came back of that very immaculate, dead classy woman with the ultimate posh accent. It must be a couple of years ago when she was first introduced to her. She remembered the shock on her face when she told George that David and the other woman's father went to the same school. She was dead decent and understanding of her own breast cancer and really kind about the way she spoke about David. In a strange way, she had met all sorts in prison and she had clicked with George straightaway. After that, she had heard from Babs how hard she had worked getting her off the charge. In a split second, she was all ears and attention.

"Well, it's difficult to say. A part of it doesn't want to know. It's stupid but you think that if you push it away, it will go away but all the time, you can feel that lump. You try and block it out of your thoughts, and pretend you're normal for as long as you can get away with it. When I had no choice, I just remember feeling that if I went under the knife, I would come out the other side and feel like a freak. You have two boobs when you grow up, not one. It's not just that you've thought that, ever since you were young, you're a woman at last and you can pull all the blokes. It's like looking in a mirror at a part of you, which you never ever think you'll ever lose. Breast cancer is something that's on the news that happens to other women. The word cancer sounds dead horrible. You know people die from it, and you get to realize that it could happen to you but you try not to think about it." "How did you get to have the operation"  
"You need your nearest and dearest to give you a bloody good push, and give you no choice if you're not too late. It takes time, mate." Julie Saunders reflected, speaking totally unselfconsciously as her memories spoke for her. "You get to think while you're in your hospital bed that, if you're lucky, you'll live. You then start asking, 'how long' and you get told of that word 'remission.' You might live five years but then again, it could be two or it could be twenty. That's the sort of thing that gets to scare you. You wonder what you've done to deserve all this shit"  
"So how do you start to come to terms with it?" Karen pursued gently, "No one can do it for you. You have to work it out in your head for yourself. Course, those around you do help, eventually"  
"I was wondering if you could do me a favour?" Karen asked anxiously. She had been impressed by Julie's insight and sympathy and the way she had spoken had clinched the matter. "If George came here, would you talk to her about your experience, what it means, that sort of thing. All you need is to be yourself." "Do you think she'll listen to me? I mean she's dead brainy, and what could I tell her that she wouldn't know." Julie Saunders asked doubtfully. There was an ingrained inferiority complex, which was apt to hold her back even at her age in life,  
"Brainy or not, she left it dangerously late in telling anyone. She's as scared as any other woman in the same situation. Only you can tell it how it is"  
The sincerity in Karen's tones finally won Julie round.  
'If you think, I can help. I'll try. Anyway, it ain't as if my social diary is booked up solid for weeks ahead"  
Karen grinned back at her and breathed a huge sigh of relief. At least she had one problem sorted out, never mind how skewed her own personal life was. 


	125. Chapter 125

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Twenty Five

John had slept very fitfully on the Tuesday night, constantly thinking about George, and about Jo, and wanting them both to be sleeping safely and soundly beside him. But George was in hospital, attached to god knows what, and Jo was in her own house, in her own bed, likely still fuming about what he'd told her that evening. He'd had to tell her about Connie, because so much of that was tied up in why George had been so scared of losing a breast, but that hadn't made his confession to Jo any easier. She had been rightly angry with him, and she would probably have even more questions for him once she cooled down enough to think logically about it. So, when he finally rose on the Wednesday morning, it was not with a feeling of brightness and wellbeing. He felt as though he had been spread very thinly, like not enough butter on a slice of bread, and he knew that it was only going to get worse. From what Ric Griffin had said last night, George's battle had only just begun. She would have to go through the emotional trauma of a course of chemotherapy, and that was probably nothing compared to seeing what she now looked like for the first time. But what his mind kept coming back to was the question of how he was supposed to help her through it. He knew almost by instinct that she would try to push him away, not wanting him to see what she looked like, not wanting to see the revulsion that she was currently sure would appear in his eyes. Never, he vowed to himself, never would she see such a reaction from him. He loved George, and nothing, absolutely nothing was going to change that. He had managed to still love her after the fiasco with Charlie, and that was a thousand times harder to deal with than a change in her sexual attributes. 

Coope was more than a little surprised to see him when he appeared before her, as she had thought he would be closeted at Warwick University for at least another week. "Judge," She said, looking up in surprise. "What're you doing here?" "Warwick is being deprived of my legendary wit and sense of humour," He told her bleakly. "Now, please could you find me the papers of the most boring trial you can lay your hands on, and bring them to my chambers?" "Of course, judge. But…" "Thank you," He said, cutting off what he knew to be a further enquiry as to his presence in London instead of Warwick. As he traversed the corridor to his chambers, he reflected that whilst a very boring and predictable trial wasn't exactly going to lighten his mood, it would give him ample thinking time, something he badly needed right now if he was going to get all three of them through the coming months. 

George had slid sluggishly into consciousness on the Wednesday morning, feeling sore, tired and miserable. She didn't want to see or speak to anybody, feeling the need to slink into a hole and hide, possibly forever. She barely acknowledged Tricia's presence when she came in to check the monitors and she certainly hadn't spoken. Tricia had seemed to feel her need to be incommunicative and had simply decided that it was easier to leave her be than to try and persuade her to talk. But at around ten that morning, Ric had appeared, accompanied by Tash and Zubin. George turned her face away from them, not wanting them to see how unhappy she was. "George, how are you feeling this morning?" Ric asked, having noticed the removal of her gaze as soon as they'd entered the room. She didn't answer, she couldn't answer. If she did, the anger, tears and wracking sobs would all be torn from her without any restraint, not something she wanted any of them to witness. Seeming to take her lack of response in his stride, Ric moved towards the bed, him and Tash standing on one side, and Zubin on the other. "Do you have any objection if we take a look at the wound?" Ric asked, still getting no hint that George had even heard him. No, she thought violently, she didn't want him to touch her, let alone remove those dressings and reveal her ugliness to their penetrating eyes. "Are you not talking to us this morning?" Zubin asked her directly, but still receiving no response. "It's quite all right, Zubin," Ric intervened for her. "George will start talking again just as soon as she is ready." As Ric and Tash gently lowered the top of her gown and began removing the dressings, being especially careful not to move the chest drain, George maintained an unwavering gaze on the vase of flowers on the windowsill. But once her skin was entirely uncovered, she visibly flinched, and they were all convinced that had she been able to do so, she would have curled into the tightest ball possible, and pushed them all away with every ounce of energy she currently possessed. She gasped and tried to turn away as Ric's delicate fingers came into contact with the scar he had created yesterday. Observing her distress, Zubin took hold of her right hand, gently chafing it between the two of his. It hurt him beyond measure to see this woman, who had been so professional, so pragmatic during the Barbara Mills trial, now flinching away from their touch, and clearly unable to voice the feelings that were raging about inside her head. When Tash had put a clean dressing over the wound, and they'd covered her up, Zubin put her hand under the covers. He tried to exchange a look with George, to tell her that they were all there for her when she wanted them, but her eyes were so full of fear and emotional lifelessness that he wondered if she'd taken any notice of him at all. 

When the three of them had emerged from George's room, and Ric was standing at the desk writing in her file, Tricia asked, "Did she give you lot the silent treatment as well?" "Yes," Zubin said bleakly. "Something I never would have expected to see from Mrs. Channing, but there you are." "She's just had a pretty huge emotional shock," Ric said as he wrote. "So it's hardly surprising that she wants to hide, whether that be from any one of us, or the reality of her situation. However she chooses to start dealing with it, is absolutely her decision. Do I make myself clear?" "Perfectly," Tricia replied. "But she can't stay silent for ever." "Who can't?" Came a familiar voice as Connie approached their little group. "George Channing," Zubin told her. "She's refusing to speak to any of us." "As might I if I were in her position," Said Connie smoothly, though she did have a thoughtful look on her face. "Just give her time." "However," Ric put in, taking the conversation back within his control. "In view of her little addictive quirk, I want her to be kept an eye on. I'm not taking any chances." "Only another addict would call Anorexia a little quirk," Said Zubin in disgust. "You think she might try to harm herself?" Connie asked, her look becoming extremely serious. "In this game, Connie, nothing surprises me any longer," Ric told her sombrely. "And in her case, I suspect I shall be surprised if she doesn't. So, Tricia, fifteen minute obs until I tell you otherwise." "That'll keep me busy," Tricia said ruefully. "But you're the master." 

At around eleven o'clock, when Coope laid a cup of tea down on his desk, she saw that although John's gaze was focused on a page of the trial papers she had found for him, he wasn't reading a single word. His eyes were full of something she very rarely saw in him, worry, concern, and maybe even a little fear. "Are you going to tell me what's happened?" She asked without preamble. John looked up at her, as though surprised at her sudden appearance. "Sorry, Coope," He said, automatically reaching for the mug of tea. "Did you say something?" "Judge, this isn't like you," She told him gently. "You're not taking in a word of what you're reading, though with that trial I'm hardly surprised. What's happened?" John just stared back at her, not having the faintest idea of how to put this catastrophe into words. How could he tell her that one of the women he loved was currently fighting for her life? No, he mustn't start thinking like that, not yet anyway. "It's George," He told her in a slightly hoarse voice, all his emotion rising unbidden to the surface. "She's in hospital, with breast cancer." Instantly, Coope's face saddened. "Oh, Judge, I'm sorry," She said quietly. "Is that why you came back from Warwick?" "Yeah," He said a little bitterly. "Because no one thought to tell me until yesterday, or should I say that I purposefully wasn't informed until yesterday, the day of her operation." "How much did they take away?" Coope asked, seeing the all-consuming pain lurking in his eyes. "The whole of her left breast," John replied sadly. "Which isn't exactly going to help the severe lack of confidence she has in me, is it?" "How does Mrs. Mills feel about this?" Coope asked, immediately taking note of the closed expression that appeared on his face. "What's Jo got to do with anything?" He replied, knowing that he had to be careful here. "Do you think I'm stupid, Judge?" Coope asked with half a smile. "Not usually, no," He replied, still trying to mask his expression. "Then did you really expect me not to work it out?" "Work what out?" John asked, not having wanted the details of his relationship with Jo and George to be discovered by anyone he worked with. "You, Mrs. Channing, and Mrs. Mills," Coope said confidently. Then, when he didn't immediately respond, she added, "Come on, Judge, I usually know more about your women than you do." John laughed, perhaps having needed this slight emotional release all morning. Coope just smiled. "I can't keep anything from you, can I," He said ruefully. "Not often, no, you can't," She agreed with him. "I know you too well, Judge." Then, turning serious again, she said, "You're not getting anywhere with those papers, are you?" "I don't think I've taken in a single word," he admitted sheepishly. "Being here, it feels somehow wrong." "If spending time with Mrs. Channing is what you feel you should do, then do it," Coope told him matter-of-factly. "It's not as if you were expected to be here this week anyway." Knocking back the tea and getting to his feet, John said, "You're right, I shouldn't be here, I should be with George." 

As he drove to the hospital, John tried to formulate what he might say to George. He wanted some answers, that was for sure, but he didn't know if this would be the right time to go seeking them. George would still be weak, still feel very vulnerable, and probably not be in the right frame of mind for his particular brand of cross-examination. Jo was in court being overseen by Monty today, or John would have sought her out to come with him. But then, if he was going to have a difficult conversation with George, he knew that Jo really shouldn't be there. When he arrived, he walked up to the ward where George was, and encountered the nurse he'd seen yesterday. "I've come to see George," He said when he approached the desk. Tricia looked up in mild concern. "How is she?" John asked, perhaps seeing something in Tricia's face to put him on the alert. "She's a bit, quiet this morning," Tricia replied, hesitating over a tactful way to describe George's complete lack of communication with any of them. "What does quiet mean?" John asked a little suspiciously. "George is refusing to speak to anyone," Tricia told him honestly. "Me, Mr. Griffin, Professor Khan, we've all tried, but she just won't talk. It's as though she's hiding from what's happened to her," She added sadly. "Can I see her?" John asked, wondering if he could help. "If anyone can get her to talk," Tricia said thoughtfully. "It'll be someone she loves. But try not to be too concerned if she doesn't. She'll come out of it when she's ready.""

As John traversed the corridor to George's room, he reflected that his questions on why she'd done what she had done would have to wait until another time. George was obviously hurting, and it was his job to try and get her through it. When he quietly pushed open the door and went into George's room, he took in the fact that the oxygen mask was gone, showing that she didn't at least need this any more. Well, any improvement was a good one, he thought as he sat down in the chair by her bed. "I'm told that you're not speaking to anyone," He said quietly, gently brushing some hair back from her face. "Care to tell me why?" When she didn't answer, but simply lay there looking at him, he realised that she wasn't about to talk to him either. He softly stroked her cheek, noticing that she definitely leaned into his touch. She craved his touch, his embrace, his reassurance, but she felt entirely unable to tell him this. "It's not a crime to be utterly terrified of this, you know," He told her. "I have been, ever since Jo told me yesterday. I can't bear the thought that I might lose you, and neither can Jo. I love you, and nothing, no matter what happens, is going to change that."" He sounded so sincere, so true in what he was saying to her, that George desperately wanted to believe him. But she couldn't, because he didn't yet know what he was really agreeing to. Turning her face away from his gentle gaze, she struggled not to cry, her throat feeling constricted from the emotions that would bury her if they were ever let loose. "Hey, don't stop looking at me," He said, gently turning her face back to meet his. "I know that you don't believe me, and that you think I won't be able to still find you attractive when I see what you look like, but until I do, I don't really know how to assure you that I will. You and Jo make my life whole, both of you make it worth living. Somehow you both manage to stop me from going completely off the rails. Well, most of the time anyway, and if I ever lost either of you, I would totally disintegrate." When her soft, warm hand reached out for his, he held it, gently running his thumb over her knuckles. This was the first sign she had exhibited that she wanted him to stay, and he took it as a good one. They sat there in companionable silence, George slightly happier to have him here with her, and John content to provide her with this type of quiet support. But she so badly wanted to be in his arms that it almost hurt to be maintaining this level of distance from him. Seeming to sense her need for him, John leaned over and rested his head on the pillow beside hers. Their noses were almost touching, and they could see deeply into each other's eyes. John wasn't at all happy with what he saw there, the lifelessness scaring him immeasurably. All George saw in his was the worry and concern he felt for her, coupled with the love and sincere and lasting affection that he had so eloquently expressed. She brought her hand up and gently ran a finger along his cheek, feeling the smooth, clean-shaven skin that she knew so well. "I feel terrible that you couldn't talk to me," He admitted to her quietly. "I've known you for nearly thirty years, George, and I know everything there is to know about you, from your occasional need to starve yourself, to what you like in bed. Despite all odds, we've successfully managed to raise a child together, no matter how hard that might have been in the beginning. You've been a part of my life since I was twenty-seven, and if there was one thing I wish you hadn't kept from me, it was this. Part of me is incredibly angry with you for leaving it so long before doing something about it, but the rest of me is saddened by the fact that after everything we've been through, you couldn't tell me about it." He knew that his words were having the desired effect, when she tried to turn her face away from him, the tears flowing silently down her cheeks. But laying a gentle hand on her cheek, he forced her to look at him. "I know that what happened with Connie hurt you immeasurably," He continued. "And I am more sorry about that than I can say." When her voice finally came, it was in a hoarse, slightly strangled whisper. "I love you," She said, not ever wanting to be parted from this man again. Her self-imposed exile from him over the last few weeks had weighed heavily upon her, because she knew that in the last couple of years, as their relationship had begun to rebuild itself, she had grown to need him in her life more and more as time went by. "I know," He said, softly kissing her. "And I love you too." When her tears had dried and she was lying quiet again, he asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" And at her nod of acquiescence, he rose from the bed, stretched the crick in his neck and walked towards the door. 

As Tricia had been bound by Ric to look in on George every quarter of an hour, she had intermittently observed this conversation, just popping her head round the door and retreating when she saw that any disturbance from her would ruin the magic the Judge was obviously working on her. But when said man appeared, and asked her where he could lay his hands on a cup of tea, she looked up at him speculatively. When she herself had gone through the trauma of losing a breast, Carlos had been frightened, both for her and himself, and had retreated from her with possibly the worst timing imaginable. But here this man was, bestowing such love and affection on the woman he loved, well, one of the women he loved, and meaning every single word of it. "She's lucky to have you," Tricia told John thoughtfully. "Very lucky indeed." "I don't always live up to her expectation," John said a little gloomily, though he appreciated the sentiment. "You try, and that's what's most important," Tricia assured him. "Is she talking yet?" "A little," John informed her. "But I wouldn't bank on getting any real response out of her at the moment. She's still extremely fragile, and that's going to take its own time to heal." 


	126. Chapter 126

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Twenty Six

On the Wednesday afternoon, George lay in her bed, perfectly still and absolutely silent. To say that she was hiding would have been an understatement. She was thankful that both John and Jo were at court, that Karen was at work, and that neither Charlie nor her father had yet been told. These were the only people from whom she might have expected an unwelcome visit. It had been lovely to see John in the morning, and he had stayed for a good couple of hours, but on observing that she was clearly tired, he had left, promising to come back later. She could hear the April shower pattering against the window, the late afternoon light having almost gone in the sudden early March storm. If she stayed perfectly still as she was now, she could almost forget that she had a drain in her chest and a drip in her arm, not to mention the leads fixed to her chest, keeping track of her every breath and heartbeat. It was only when she moved, or attempted to get out of bed to go to the bathroom that everything seemed to hurt, tearing at the stitches in the place where her left breast had been. She looked terrible, she knew that even without looking in a mirror. She hadn't worn make up for two days, and because of the drain and the bandages, she hadn't been allowed near a shower since the previous morning. She kept drifting in and out of a doze, day seeming to merge with night, in one long, endless hollow of pain and despair. She didn't have the energy to cry, or to shout, simply wanting to forget she existed. She hadn't eaten since Monday, and that had been almost under duress from Tricia, which was why they'd been drip feeding her ever since her admission. Her brain felt so numb, that she couldn't even be bothered to lie there counting the quiet beeps of the monitor that told them all whether she was dead or alive. 

When the door quietly opened, George kept her eyes tightly shut, hoping her visitor would assume she was asleep. But Connie Beauchamp hadn't dealt with human beings on a daily basis for nearly thirty years, without being instantly able to tell whether one was or wasn't asleep. It was the perfume that George recognised at first, that subtle, very expensive scent that had been in John's chambers, on the day she'd caught him in afterglow with Connie. Opening her eyes in shock, George simply stared as Connie approached her. "So, you remember me then?" Connie asked, inwardly kicking herself for the inanity of her opening comment. "I'd be hard put not to recognise that perfume," George said dully. "Though it's far nicer without the added overtones of John's aftershave and sex." "I'm sure it is," Connie replied, not letting George's jibe halt her in her tracks, though it had forcefully reminded her that she was dealing with no amateur here, but a true expert in the ways and means of verbal cut and thrust. "Do you know why we've had you so closely monitored for the past twenty four hours?" "Professor Kahn said something about me beating out of time when I was under the knife yesterday." "You had some minor arrhythmias. It means that your heart was beating unevenly. But don't worry, it's quite a common side effect of a general anaesthetic. Though in your case," Connie added slowly, "there is an added factor that could have accounted for this." "What, the fact that I smoke too much?" "No, though that wouldn't have helped," Connie said with a half smile. "In order to keep functioning properly, the heart requires a satisfactory level of protein. This is what keeps the arteries flexible and strong. I think it's fair to say that your body hasn't been receiving enough nourishment of any kind recently. Wouldn't you agree?" "Tell you that as well, did they?" George demanded acidly, her building inner fury in complete contrast to Connie's state of calm, self-assured professionalism. "The fact that you are seriously underweight, and worryingly undernourished, is in your notes, yes," Connie replied, moving over to look at the monitor screen. After watching it for a while and examining the wave patterns for the previous few hours, she added, "I think the leads can come off now." George did her best to remain absolutely still whilst Connie gently removed the latex pads from her chest, but Connie felt every inward flinch, whenever her hands came into contact with George's skin. 

When she'd removed the leads and switched off the monitor, Connie sat down in the chair on the other side of George's bed. "How do you feel?" She asked gently. "Like I want to be left alone," George said bitterly. "Is that too much to ask?" "No," Connie said mildly. "But I don't think it's doing you any good." "Really," George said derisively. "And even if company might be the best thing for me, what in the world makes you think I'd want it to be you?" Connie concealed a smile. It was working. She'd known her presence would wind George up, make her begin to express her anger, and she'd been absolutely right. But she thought that the real place to start prodding, was that day just over three weeks ago now. It had been in the middle of that bloody trial. It had been at the end of the afternoon, and she'd been testifying for the prosecution, the drip of a CPS barrister having laboriously taken her through her evidence, with the cross-examination from the defence to follow in the morning. Connie had been accosted by the Judge's clerk, and asked to pay him a visit in chambers. Ever one to keep a man waiting, Connie had gone into the ladies' to touch up her make up. George had been the only other woman in there, standing in front of the mirror, with her hand inside her jacket, clearly in the middle of touching her breast through her clothes. Connie had immediately seen this for what it was, a woman who had discovered something that worried her, and who was examining it at every possible opportunity. George had looked incredibly guilty at being caught doing something so private in a public place. Not being able to deny what she'd been doing, George had briefly opened up to her about it. But then Connie's attempts to get George to do something about her fears had been ruined, by George catching Connie with John little more than an hour later. 

"I'm not here to say I told you so," Connie said, getting to the heart of the matter. "You could have fooled me," George said dryly. "And let's face it, you were right." "Even if you'd done something about this earlier, you might still have ended up with the same result." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" George asked scathingly. "Because it's doing a pretty poor job of it. What was it you said to me three weeks ago? Oh, yes that you knew exactly what you were talking about, because you'd seen what untreated tumours could do. Well, believe me, you don't." "Why?" The question was perfectly innocuous, but George seemed to use it as an opportunity to really get into her stride. "Do me a favour," George said curtly. "Go and look in that mirror over there, or shall I save you the trouble. You are extremely attractive, incredibly sexy to the point of erotic fantasy, and you have everything that men, or women for that matter, would find desirable. After all, it's not as if John had any complaints, did he, and I can promise you, he's a connoisseur of such things." "That's what's really bothering you about this, isn't it," Connie said gently, momentarily stunned by George's unequivocal description of her. "Well, after seeing what the likes of you have to offer, do you blame me?" George said caustically, forcefully reminding Connie that George had quite literally seen everything Connie had to offer a man, when she'd caught her with John in his chambers. "I think you might give both John and Jo credit for more than a little sensitivity." "Oh, you think you know him that well, do you," George said disdainfully. "Because believe me, after all the years of being subjected to John's constant inability to keep his hands off other women, I know just how easy he'll find it to pick up someone infinitely more desirable than I'm likely to be, and leave Jo out of this," She added, the issue of Jo's possible reaction to her appearance far too hurtful to contemplate. "If they love you, it won't make any difference," Connie replied, almost despising herself for giving George such a standard, pathetically professional response. "Well, I'll find out when this lot's finally taken away," George said dismissively, gesturing to the cluster of drain and dressings. "Besides," She added bitterly. "I used to think that John loved me enough, not to screw some random surgeon, who just happened to catch his eye from the witness box." I deserved that, Connie was astonished to find herself thinking. "His doing that with me really hurt you, didn't it," She said quietly. "More than you will ever know," George said, the tightness in her chest and the lump in her throat, giving her voice a slightly strangled edge. "I love John, for all his faults, but I won't even be able to hold him with his usual antidote to stress any more." "I'm sorry," Connie said into the silence, before she could think better of it. "I know, for what it's worth," George said dully. "And I also know that it's the first time you've ever felt the need to apologise for doing such a thing." "If I'd known it was going to cause this much hurt, I never would have done it." "Yes, you would," George said matter-of-factly. "I suspect it might even have given you an extra thrill, to know that you had the power to temporarily take someone like John away from not just one, but two women." Connie was momentarily thrown. Without being aware of it, George had well and truly hit the nail on the head. Connie did use sex to get her what she wanted, she always had done. "Tell me," Connie asked, trying to change the subject a little. "If this had been Jo, not you having a breast removed, how would you react?" "In theory, I wouldn't give a damn what she looked like, as long as she was alive. But I can't pretend that I wouldn't be incredibly nervous at showing my immediate reaction to how she looked." "And don't you think that that's how Jo might be with you?" "I don't know," George said miserably. "It took her long enough to get used to the idea of being sexually involved with a woman. This might be the thing to really frighten her off. As for John, well, I know only too well how fickle he can be with regards to female flesh." "I know you don't want to hear this," Connie said carefully. "But you're not going to make the situation any better by not eating." "You're quite right there," George said tartly. "I don't want to hear it." Connie realised that with the reference to her anorexia, the barriers had gone right back up. "But as your surgeon," Connie continued valiantly. "It is my duty to point this out. I don't want to give you more scars than you've already got, but keep on going the way you are, and you will be back under the knife, only this time it'll be mine." "Tell me," George said cuttingly. "Precisely how do you deal with the parts of your life that you don't much like? Though I suspect I can already come up with an answer. I expect you sleep with more men than you've ever cut up, in order to cover up an enormous great gap somewhere in your life, in the same way that I stop eating, because physical discomfort and deprivation are far easier to deal with than the acknowledgement of my many and varied failures. Am I right?" Connie sat stunned, simply staring at this woman, a woman whom she'd come in here to help, who had just told her more home truths than she'd heard in a long time. "You don't like it when the shoe's on the other foot, do you?" George almost taunted. "Yes, admittedly what I do is bad for me, I know that. But at least it doesn't routinely hurt anyone but me." This seemed to snap Connie out of her speechlessness. "And just what do you suppose both John and Jo would do if you died?" She demanded. "I don't know," George said quietly. "They managed relatively satisfactorily without me before, so I'm sure they would again, in time." "You really have no idea, do you?" Connie said in astonishment. "You wouldn't know this, because you were still out from the anaesthetic for most of last night, but Jo didn't leave your side from the time you came back from theatre yesterday, and when John arrived in the early evening, they stayed here with you, until Tricia virtually had to throw them out. When Jo saw you, when we brought you back, I briefly thought I was going to have to admit her alongside you. When John arrived, he asked Ric and Zubin more questions than I suspect he usually does in court, his most difficult one being why had you left it so long before seeking treatment. So, don't you dare try and tell me that they won't stand by you in this, because anyone with any common sense can see they will. You would too, if you had half an ounce of self-esteem in you. If you want to get through this, you've got to start fighting, because believe me, your battle has only just begun." "I can't lose either of them," George said in a tiny, strangled voice, the tears now pouring down her cheeks. "I love them both, so much." Getting up to perch on the edge of the bed, Connie helped George sit up, put her arms round the far too thin body, trying not to put any pressure on George's wound. George clung to her, needing someone, anyone, to prevent her from sliding altogether off her crumbling ledge of sanity. She gently held George, just letting her cry, allowing her to begin the grieving process for a part of her body that had made her the woman she was. George's hurt was almost violent, but it needed to come out. If she'd allowed it to remain inside, it would corrode her just as skilfully as the cancer itself. "I shouldn't be doing this," George said, eventually beginning to calm down. "Yes, you should," Connie said gently. "You need to." "Why are you doing this?" George asked, as Connie leaned over to reach the box of tissues on the bedside table. "Because having had first hand experience of your anger via cross-examination, I knew you would need someone to shout at, and having already established something for you to niggle at with John, it only made it easier for you to start letting it out." "I really don't know what I'd do without John and Jo. I know it's a pretty bizarre set up, but it works for us. Well, most of the time anyway." "If it works, then it doesn't matter how bizarre the set up," Connie said matter-of-factly. She could see that George had worn herself out with both the sniping and the crying. As George lay back down, and Connie adjusted the bedclothes around the drain, George could feel the energy seeping out of her. "I never knew that arguing could be so exhausting," She said drowsily. "You're still very weak," Connie replied. Then, taking George's hand, she said, "Promise me something, try to start looking after yourself, because you're not going to make it through the next few months if you don't." George gave her a tired smile. "I'll do you a deal," She said, the tiredness gradually taking her over. "I start looking after myself, and you stop hiding behind the front of part time man eater." "We'll see," Connie said with a small smile, making no promises. She waited until George drifted into a restless sleep, wondering if, by chance, she may finally have come across the knot in her so far smooth scane of sexual power. 


	127. Chapter 127

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred and Twenty Seven

A little while later, when Ric, Carlos and Zubin emerged from a long afternoon in theatre, they converged around the nurse's station, to check up on their other patients. "How's George Channing doing?" Ric asked, when he reached her name on the ward list. "She didn't seem so good when I looked in on her at lunchtime." "Oh, she's better than she was," Tricia said matter-of-factly. "She took a bit of persuading to start talking though." "Oh, who by?" Carlos asked, wondering if his beautiful Tricia had achieved this result. "Connie did it," Tricia said proudly. "She did what all you men have been afraid to do, she gave George someone to shout at." "Really?" Ric said in astonishment, breaking into a smile. "By the sound of it, I think it was quite successful. George Channing is the only person I've ever heard giving Mrs. Beauchamp a real run for her money." "What I wouldn't have given to be a fly on the wall," Zubin commented wistfully. "Well, god bless Connie," Carlos said wonderingly, lifting the vase of flowers on the desk in a toast. "And all who sail in her," Ric added dryly, thinking that for Connie to have met her match, George Channing really must be a first class sniper, having had years and years of target practice. "Ah, don't be mean," Tricia protested. "She looked really done in when she came out of there." Ric suddenly looked concerned. "Where is she?" He asked, thinking that as George was primarily his patient, he should be the one to thank Connie, for bringing her out of her refusal to talk or communicate with anyone. He had been seriously worried about George, knowing that her prior emotional instability wouldn't help the situation in any way. George had been taking absolutely no notice of anyone's presence from the first time he'd gone to see her that morning. He'd kept her on fifteen-minute obs, more to make sure that she didn't attempt to harm herself than from any particular medical perspective. But if Connie had managed to break into George's hiding place then all credit to Connie. "She's in the rec room," Tricia informed him. "Looks like she could do with some TLC to me." "And we all know that Mr. Griffin would be perfectly happy to provide it," Zubin drawled cynically, receiving a glare from Ric as he walked in the direction of the rec room, where they all occasionally took the chance for a coffee and a sit down. 

When he quietly pushed open the door, he saw that Connie was the only other occupant, standing in front of one of the long windows that looked out onto the hospital grounds. Something about the slight hunch of her shoulders seemed to give off a clear signal forbidding anyone to approach her. Closing the door softly behind him, Ric slowly walked over to her. "Connie?" He said, breaking in on her thoughts. "That's the trouble with working in this place," Connie replied bitterly. "Because we don't hold actual, permanent positions here, we don't have anything like an office to afford us that very occasional, though necessary bit of peace. At least working for the NHS does mean that I have access to such a luxury." Ric had to agree with her on this. Zubin, Carlos, Connie and himself, not to mention the likes of Tom and Alistair, spent approximately two thirds of their time working for the NHS, and the rest of their time doing private work, which in his case brought in some extremely welcome extra revenue. But it was only those devotees of the private system, those philistines in the name of human equality, who were provided with permanent offices. Back on Keller ward, where he ruled supreme, he did have his own office. After all, wasn't it there where he'd had such a wonderful half an hour with Connie, at the end of her first day? "I hear we have you to thank, for getting George Channing to start communicating again," He said, for the moment ignoring her clear demand to be left alone. "Well, I think I got a bit more than I bargained for," Connie said dully, and Ric suddenly became aware of the slight tremor in her voice. Connie was still looking out of the window, still standing with her back to him. Walking right up to her, he stood to her left, seeing in an instant that she had her face turned from him for a reason. Silent tears were running down her cheeks, making her look more lost and desolate than he'd ever seen her. "What happened?" He said, putting a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Have you ever done anything so stupid?" She asked, the tenderness in his gesture persuading her to open up. "Something you did on the spur of the moment because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Only afterwards, when you discover precisely what you've done, you regret it so strongly that it hurts." Ric took in a deep breath. As a compulsive gambler, yes, there had been many such occasions in his life, more than he cared to remember. "The time Diane lent me her credit card, to buy some champagne for the staff on New Year's Eve, and I immediately used it to gamble in an online casino. I'd say that was pretty bad. Why?" This was Connie after all, and he did have a pretty good idea, but he let her tell it in her own time. "Just how aware are you," She asked slowly. "Of the precise nature of the relationship George has with the judge, and with that other barrister, Jo Mills I think her name is?" "It might have taken me six months of working with Tash to discover her persuasion," Ric said with a certain amount of amusement in his tone. "But I'm not blind." Connie managed a watery smile. "You know that trial Zubin and I had to testify in at the end of February? Well, that trial was presided over by none other than Mr. Justice Deed. Let's just say that the Deed himself provided a delightfully unexpected distraction." "Yes, I did wonder," Ric said quietly. "What do you mean, you did wonder?" Connie demanded, finally turning fully to face him. "The way you looked at him when he arrived last night. You used to look at me like that, as if you could swallow a man whole." Connie laughed despite her tears. "You never know your luck," She said dryly. "Does George know about this?" Ric asked seriously, thinking he could see what this might have done, to a woman who would now be extremely self-conscious of her looks. "She walked in on us, which is why she tried to crucify me so magnificently in court. Believe me, I wouldn't recommend being caught in post-coital afterglow. It's the most undignified position to find yourself in." "That's a matter of opinion," Ric said, a soft smile spreading over his face at the memory of how beautiful Connie had looked, lying in his arms, on the sofa in his office, her hair tousled and her face flushed from orgasm. "Don't look like that," Connie said abruptly, correctly interpreting his expression. "The point is, that down the corridor, lies a woman who has just had a breast removed. She is already going to be deeply concerned about the way she looks, and all I've done by sleeping with her lover, is to make that situation a thousand times worse." "When you slept with the Judge," Ric asked tentatively. "You didn't know he was involved with her, did you?" "No, but I did know about her lump," Connie said miserably. "I'm not sure which is worse." "Connie," Ric said insistently, realising where her thoughts were taking her. "For whatever reason, George told you about what she'd found. Just because she then found you in the arms of her lover, does not mean that she purposefully ignored the advice I'm sure you gave her." "Really," Connie said icily. "Because from here, that's pretty much how it looks." "Connie, listen to me," Ric continued. "Even if she'd never found out about you and the Judge, there's no way she would have come forward as early as that. Yes, she might have subsequently despised every word you said, in or out of court, but if that was a reason for not coming forward for treatment, it was only an excuse. She's had that lump a lot longer than February, I promise you." "I just wish I hadn't done it, that's all." Putting out his arms, Ric drew her to him. "Now you listen to me," He said gently but firmly. "You, are one of the most talented surgeons I have ever worked with, you give your all to your profession, and you save people's lives virtually every day. Yes, you don't always know where to draw the line between business and pleasure, but then, neither do most of us. George Channing's having lost a breast, and therefore an enormous amount of what little self-esteem and self-respect she had in the first place, is not your fault. You've been far more on the fringes than the rest of us this week, but it has probably still registered with you, just how close both the Judge and Jo are to George. You may use your body to give you power, Connie, but it hasn't allowed you to take the Judge away from his priorities, at least not for more than the odd half hour in chambers." Connie stood perfectly still, her head leaned against his chest. She didn't know why, but it didn't feel wrong to be doing this with him. With anyone else, it might have made her feel far less in control, but with Ric that didn't seem to matter. "Thank you," She said eventually, detaching herself from him and swiftly kissing his cheek. "For talking some sense into me." Ric smiled at her. "I think you've just had a hard day, and that you need to relax." "Oh, and how would you suggest I relax, Mr. Griffin?" She asked, slipping so easily back into her usual flirtatious drawl. "I would go home, put on some music, and smoke a joint, if I could lay my hands on the necessary ingredients." "Oh, yes, I've heard about your little line in police cautions for possession of cannabis," She tutted in mock disgust. "Don't knock it till you've tried it," Ric said firmly. "It's far more successful than alcohol any day." "I have, but not since I was sixteen, and behaving particularly badly. So, Mr. Griffin, how would you feel, about assisting this relaxation you appear to have prescribed?" Seeing the tell tale glimmer of lust in her eye, Ric breathed in through his nose, taking in the enchanting waft of her perfume, as erotic and distinctive as her meaning. "I would be delighted," He replied, running a lazy finger down her cheek. "After all, it's about time I taught you something about how to really behave badly." "Oh, I'll hold you to that," She said, walking towards the door. "My place, at nine." "Hey, but I don't know where you live," Ric protested, walking after her. "Then go and find out," Connie said with a grin, thinking that her day was fast beginning to get better.

After discretely asking Tricia to get Connie's address for him from the computer, he went home, to his depressingly tiny bedsit, took a shower, and made himself look as stylishly casual as he would allow. He didn't want to go over the top, but he did want to look good for her. That unexpected, incredibly exciting quickie with Connie on the sofa in his office had been sensational, but Ric knew it had only really been a taster of what Connie had to offer. He'd paid a quick visit to his supplier on the way home, the package of dope now nestling in one of his trouser pockets, the other rudiments of a joint in the other. Not having a car any more, thanks to his inability to stop putting vast amounts of money that he didn't have on the roulette wheel, he took a cab to Connie's address. As he walked towards her house, his eyebrows soared. Whoever Connie was married to, he must have money. The house looked like an upside down T from where he was standing, branching out on either side, one side being softly lit and the other in darkness. When Connie came to the door, she was wearing a very simple, little black dress, that clung lightly to her high, full breasts, and which was cinched in at the waist with a wide, leather belt. Ric's eyes travelled from her subtly made up face, down her shapely torso, to where the dress flared out slightly over her curvaceous hips, descending to midthigh, showing off her long, beautiful legs to perfection. "I'm not sure whether it's my house, or my figure that has your eyes out on stalks," Connie said mockingly, observing his scrutiny. "I'm sorry," Ric said, looking a little abashed as he moved into the hall. "Oh, please don't be," Connie drawled, leading him towards the lounge. "It's really rather flattering." "You look good enough to eat," He said, briefly touching her shoulder. "Let's hope so," She replied softly, locking her gaze with his, waiting until he dropped his eyes first. So, that's how she wants to play it, he thought, she wants to be the one in control. But then he thought that this was how she always played it. They sat on the sofa, drinking red wine and listening to some soft, sensual rock music that only seemed to intensify the charged atmosphere of expectancy. "So," Connie said, as Ric began to roll a joint. "Why this sudden urge to get me stoned? It can't be as a precursor to seducing me." Ric grinned at her. "Well, I have enough ego," He said, handing her the joint and fishing in his pocket for a lighter. "To think that I wouldn't need to get you stoned, in order to seduce you." As Ric flicked the lighter, the flame lit up Connie's face, showing him in the soft light that she was really beginning to relax. She coughed with the first hit, causing Ric to smile. "Take it gently," He said, putting out a hand to relieve her of the joint. Taking another, slightly less enthusiastic drag, Connie handed it back to him. "Whatever that is," She said, "It's strong stuff, nice though." "It comes from a very reputable supplier," He said, taking a long, practiced drag of his own. "Only you could describe a drug dealer as reputable," Connie said with a laugh. "I used to grow it myself, before I lost the house." They passed the joint between them, both feeling the gradual effects of it. "Why did you lose your house?" Connie asked, though after listening to grapevine gossip she had a good idea. "I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours," He said with a wink, handing the joint back to her. "Oh, so that's why you wanted to lower my defences," She said knowingly. "All so that you could find out everything you've been dying to ask since my first day." "In a manner of speaking," He said, taking the last drag from the joint before stubbing it out in the ashtray. "I can be summed up in three, no four, words. I'm addicted to gambling." "Hence Diane's credit card?" Connie asked, her theory having been confirmed. "Yes, definitely one of the more shameful moments of my career." "That can't be the only thing that defines you," Connie said gently, the dope taking the usual, abrasive edge away from her voice. "I'd like to think it wasn't," Ric said, as she refilled their glasses. "But add on to that four failed marriages, almost a fifth, nine children and owing various people over a hundred and fifty grand, and that'll tell you that I do everything in excesses." "Nine children? You don't hang about, do you," Connie said in astonishment. "What happened to the almost fifth marriage?" Taking a sip of the full-bodied red in his glass, Ric said, "Sam Kennedy was an SHO on Darwin. She gave me twenty grand to put a hole in my debts, and the night before we were due to get married, I put the entire cheque on a roulette wheel. You can guess the outcome." Connie winced. "My god," She said in awe. "You like to live dangerously, don't you." "It's far more under control than it used to be." "That wasn't a criticism," Connie said, briefly touching his hand. "The fact that you can actually refer to yourself as an addict is good. If, as you say, it's far more under control than it used to be, that's good too. You just need to try to keep it that way." 

"Enough about me," Ric said, preparing to roll another joint, and feeling more than a little self-conscious. "Tell me about you, and why you remain married, when you clearly aren't happy." "Well, well, Mr. Griffin, that is perceptive of you," She drawled to cover up her shock at his accuracy. "I was twenty two, and was struggling to finance my way through medical school. I met Michael when I was at a particularly low ebb, and was in the process of getting very drunk in a bar, because I knew that I either had to drop out of med school and get a job, or start opening my legs for a living until I achieved my registration." Ric just stared at her. "That is an extremely desperate path to have to follow," He said carefully. "Oh, believe me," Connie said bitterly. "It wasn't a decision I was taking lightly. So, he offered to finance the rest of my medical training, if I would marry him, and provide the necessary accessory of a wife. Michael was a cardiothoracic surgeon, and still does do the odd bit of operating very occasionally, but his main accomplishment is politics. He works for the Department of Health, and sleeps with virtually every secretary to pass through his domain. We've always had an open marriage, because he wasn't prepared to drop the women, and he knew that I would find out about them if he said he would and didn't. So, he goes to work every day in the city, with the type of false respectability demanded of such a position, and I got to realise my dream. It's not quite as crazy as it sounds," She added, as he handed her the smouldering joint. "It's been pretty successful for both of us, really. He has lovers, I have lovers, and we both commiserate about people who fail to live up to expectation." After taking a deep draw on the cigarette, she handed it back to him. "Have you never wanted to break the arrangement?" Ric asked, trying to get his head round this, though he could see just how much sense it must have made at the time. "No," Connie answered without hesitation. "I don't go looking for emotional interference, so it's not an issue." Ric's brain began trying to put the pieces together. Something clearly prevented her from allowing anyone to get remotely close to her, something that had happened before her marriage. "Why don't you go looking for, emotional interference as you call it?" "Not even under the influence of cannabis, will you persuade me to tell you the answer to that very interesting little quandary," Connie replied, her tone a lot sharper than she'd really meant it to be. Ric knew he'd crossed a line, and inwardly kicked himself for his stupidity. "I'm sorry," He said, handing the joint back to her. "Just don't push it, Ric," She said a lot more gently. "Some things really are best left hidden." 

Getting up to change the CD, Connie put on some Dido, the drifting, sensual tones sliding over her skin as skilfully as she hoped Ric's hands would later. Returning to the sofa, she sat closer to him, leaning up against him as his arm went round her shoulders. Ric knew that with the lowering of her barriers, he was getting to see the softer, far more gentle side to Connie's nature. He could see that she was itching to really let someone in, but that she was terrified of doing so. "Tricia said that George really gave you a run for your money this afternoon," Ric said quietly, incredibly curious to know just what had been said between them. "I bet she did," Connie said cynically. "That was the best and the worst row I've had in a long time. But then, I suppose I should have known better than to tangle with a barrister who'd already made mincemeat of me in court." "What on earth did she say?" Ric asked, his curiosity now really peaked. "A lot of things that were a bit too close to home. It was my own fault, because I brought up the subject of her anorexia." "You need to be very careful with that kind of discussion, you know that, Connie." "Yes, I know, I know," She insisted. "But it needed to be done. If she keeps on going the way she is, the anorexia will kill her quicker than the cancer." "I do hope you didn't tell her that," Ric said with a feeling of foreboding. "Not quite," Connie said, not entirely meeting his eyes. "I just pointed out that if she didn't start looking after herself, she would be back under the knife, only this time it would be mine, not yours." "And what was her response?" He asked carefully. "To ask me how I dealt with the areas of my life I wasn't happy with, to which she all too readily supplied an answer." When she didn't immediately continue, he prompted her. "She suggested," Connie said slowly, feeling slightly foolish that someone she should have regarded as a perfect stranger had got it so right. "That I sleep with more men than I cut up, her words not mine, because it fills a pretty enormous gap in my life." "And do you?" Ric asked gently, already knowing the answer. "Possibly," Connie conceded. "I'm not sure I would have put it like that, though." "So, how would you describe the way you live?" Ric asked, thinking that George Channing had pretty successfully hit the nail on the head. "I pick up men like..." "...Like Mubbs Hussein," Ric put in with a smirk. "How do you know about him?" Connie asked, momentarily thrown off guard. "You really should try to avoid sleeping with the one man who really does go out of his way to advertise his sexual conquests." "It must be a myth that women keep the gossip columns in business," Connie said, vowing to pay Mubbs back for this at the earliest opportunity. "All right, so I pick up men like Mr. Hussein, as a distraction. Is that such a bad thing?" "No," Ric said carefully. "But if you are honest with yourself, you might consider, that you do it for an entirely different reason." He felt her barriers go back up in an instant. "Don't even think of going there," She said firmly. "Why I do what I do, is not up for discussion. Is that clear?" Gently turning her face towards him, he caught the brief flash of fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry," He said, looking straight into her eyes to show his sincerity. "Forget it," She said bitterly. "Just don't try to find out things that I have no intention of sharing with you." Gently playing with a lock of her hair, he kept his gaze fixed softly on hers, watching as she gradually began to relax again. "Why was this afternoon the best and the worst row you've had for a while?" Ric asked, wanting to know more of this enlightening conversation. Connie appeared to have been miles away, Ric's question dragging her back to the present. "It was fantastic, because I'm not used to really finding my match when it comes to arguing, but George Channing really can fight. Even though she was barely twenty-four hours out of major surgery, she fought back with all the anger she threw at me in court. She'd have lasted a good deal longer, if she hadn't been so weak. I think the fact that she already had a reason to be furious with me might have helped. But there's a very basic fact that you're missing with George. Neither you nor Zubin, nor even Carlos would ever have persuaded her to start opening up." "Why so certain?" He asked, wondering what they'd all missed. "It's obvious," Connie said almost scornfully. "She couldn't bear seeing a whole, entirely complete woman." "Oh, I see," Ric said, the realisation beginning to dawn. It had been Connie's figure, as much as her actual self that had wound George Channing up to the point of snapping. "That was a pretty big risk to take," He said quietly, because Connie had been gambling with both George's sanity and her own career, in so blatantly forcing the issue. "Yes," She agreed. "But I felt it was a calculated one. Come on, Ric, you know this job is made up of just as many calculated risks as it is certainties." "And am I a risk or a certainty?" He asked, fixing his gaze on hers. "Well, now," Connie drawled seductively, "Whilst it would be terribly presumptuous of me to say that you are a certainty, I feel that doing so would be a calculated risk." "Is that so," Ric said softly, the deep, gravelly tones making her senses tingle. 

When their lips finally met, it seemed to light a spark deep in both of them. They could both taste the spicy flavour of the cannabis, combined with the red wine they'd been drinking since Ric's arrival. It struck Connie that just for once, it was nice to be able to take things slowly, to allow the lust to begin to build, rather than attempting to achieve instant gratification. Seeming to sense this in her, Ric was perfectly happy to take this at her speed, thinking that a long, slow build up would probably increase her enjoyment of it a thousand fold. They remained like this for a while, soft and gentle words mingling with their kisses, the languid tones of Dido taking away the need for conversation. When Connie led his hand to her breast, Ric smiled, allowing her to take the lead for the moment, but vowing to really make her let go with him later on. It surprised him to feel that she wasn't wearing a bra, the soft material of her dress causing a point of friction, as he grazed a thumb over her nipple. She emitted a quiet gasp as he did this, her pupils dilating with lust. After some more of this, Connie said, "Let's go to bed," In a voice that he'd never heard before, a tone that bore no trace of the need to maintain her control. When she'd got what she wanted from him, on the sofa in his office, she had been in control almost to the end, only giving way when her orgasm had swept over her. "What the lady wants, the lady usually gets," Ric said, trying to coax his voice into a vague resemblance of a South American drawl. Connie laughed. "If that's suppose to be an imitation of Carlos, it's terrible." As she took his hand and they moved out of the lounge and up the stairs, Ric found himself wondering if Connie had ever slept with Carlos. "Never, before you ask," She said, astounding him with the level of her intuition. "He enjoys hitting on me, but that's as far as it goes." 

Connie's bedroom was enormous, a king-sized bed on one wall, with a dressing table in the most elegant rosewood opposite, the bed having a fantastic view of the mirror. "That's very good planning," He said, glancing over at the positioning of the mirror, as he put his arms round her and began undoing the three buttons at the back of her dress. "Oh, isn't it just," She replied, one hand starting on the buttons of his shirt, and the other moving to his belt. Always count on a surgeon to do at least two things at once, he thought, his eyes widening as her dress slid silently to the floor. Connie wasn't wearing a stitch under her dress, her beautifully smooth skin just waiting to be kissed. He could never entirely remember how he got out of the rest of his clothes, but as soon as they met under the duvet, his hands began mapping every inch of her body. "Are you determined to learn every bit of me by heart, Mr. Griffin?" She teased, his hands setting fire to every nerve ending she had. "Every inch," He said, trailing a hand down over her hip and along her thigh. But as her hand moved to span the considerable circumference of him, he stopped her. "All I want you to do," He said, taking her hand and briefly holding it down to the bed. "Is to lie back and enjoy." "If you insist," She replied, wondering just what he had in store for her. As his hand slipped between her long, slim legs, she reached out a hand to the bedside table, picked up the remote control and flicked on the little stereo on her chest of drawers. As a soft, sexy singer's voice filled the room, Connie resolved to give herself up entirely to whatever Ric might do to her. Ric was immensely gratified to discover just how wet she already was, affirming more than any words ever could, that she really wanted this, wanted him. As he detached his lips from her wickedly sinful mouth, and began kissing his way down her body, mercilessly sucking and soothing her nipples in passing, she realised what was coming. This was yet another of the things that usually got left out of any random quickie she managed to obtain at work, because an office, no matter how comfortably furnished it may be, wasn't conducive to long, languorous pleasure giving, which in this case was only usually intended for one person at a time. It had been quite a while since she'd been accorded this particular delicacy, but as his tongue gently probed the soft, satiny place between her legs, she couldn't help letting out a moan of delight. But Connie wasn't the only one enjoying this. Ric hadn't done this since he'd been engaged to Sam, the quickie with Connie having been the first sexual company he'd had since Sam, not counting the near miss he'd had with Kelly York, who'd turned out to be the resident serial killer. Connie was responding with such alacrity, that Ric knew he couldn't possibly be happier. She cried out, as he gently took the bud of her clitoris between his soft, full lips. "God, you're incredible," She said, her voice not entirely steady. Ric softly laughed, his mouth being too full of her to say anything. As his tongue briefly dipped inside her, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. As he sensed her need to finish this, he returned his tongue to her clit, carefully inching three fingers inside her, feeling the gloriously silky walls that surrounded him. Her gasps increased, her muscles tensed, and her body slightly shook as she came, a strangled cry being dragged from her lips. 

As she lay, utterly spent and with her breathing gradually returning to normal, he moved back to lie beside her. When she leaned over to kiss him, clearly taking in every bit of her own taste that he had to offer, he couldn't help but smirk. "That has to be the ultimate in sexual ego," He said as she lay back on the pillows. "What is?" She asked, her voice slightly deeper than normal from her extreme arousal. "Wanting to taste yourself." Connie laughed. "Well, you seemed to enjoy it fairly substantially," She said, laying a well-practiced hand on his rock hard shaft. He didn't try to dissuade her this time, wanting nothing more than to sink himself deep inside her, and to achieve his own release. "I didn't hear you complaining," He said, turning on his side to face her. "Not on your life," She drawled, beginning to kiss him again and still moving her hand on him. "It's been far too long, since I had that particular speciality." "Then in that case, I do hope I lived up to expectation," He replied, knowing that he had. "Oh, but you did," She said, easing a leg under his, to encourage him to move between hers. As he slid his substantial length inside her, she knew exactly why it was, that she'd propositioned him for a second time. He made her feel full to overflowing, her internal walls gripping him easily. He tilted his hips slightly to graze her G spot with every thrust, slipping a hand in between them to stimulate her clit. Ric knew he could last for ages if he wanted to, but as soon as he felt her internal muscles begin to twitch, a sure sign that her orgasm was approaching, he sped up his thrusts, locking his lips with hers as they crashed over the cliff edge of pleasure. 

A good while later, they were reclining in the enormous marble bath in Connie's en suite, Ric having been persuaded to go downstairs and fetch the wine. Connie was sitting between his legs, with her back to him as he skilfully massaged shower gel into her shoulders. For tonight at least, she was simply going to let whatever happened to happen, enjoying every sensation Ric was creating in her. It wouldn't do either of them any harm to spend one night in true decadent style, indulging every minor whim. She writhed occasionally under his hands, as he came into contact with a knot of muscle, digging in his long, surgeon's fingers to untangle every tendon. "Is there anything you can't do with your hands?" She asked, taking a sip from her glass of wine on the edge of the bath. "I'm not very good at playing the guitar," He replied, loving the way her skin slid under his touch. "Well, you've been playing me like a pro," she said, leaning back into his chest so that his arms slid round her. He shifted her slightly so that her head was resting on his left shoulder. As both his hands began caressing her nipples, she turned her lips to meet his, both of them tasting of the fruity, earthy red in their glasses. When they came up for air, Connie suddenly thought of something. "You know something else George Channing said to me today?" "I'm all ears," Ric said dryly, seeing that her conversation with George had affected Connie in several different ways. "She said that I was incredibly sexy to the point of erotic fantasy, and that I have everything any man or woman could desire. That was certainly enlightening." Ric laughed. "Well, it seems that Ms Channing and I, actually do have something in common. Though that can't have been the first time you've attracted the interest of another woman." "No, but I've never had my assets pointed out to me so unequivocally by one." "Your assets, are many and varied," Ric said softly, his voice caressing her as gently, though with just as much promise as his hands were doing, one of them leaving her breast to slip down below the water. She gasped as his finger touched her already sensitive clitoris, her body reacting immediately, even though she'd had two very explosive orgasms already tonight. "You really are very naughty, you know," She said, as his long middle finger slid inside her. "I promised you I'd teach you something about behaving badly, didn't I." "Mmm, so you did, and I am delighted to see that you are one of the few men who really can take the pace." As she said this, she began running her left hand up and down his cock, as it rose out of the water like the predatory animal it was. "Well, it would be unforgivable of me, to disappoint you," He said, trying to keep his voice under control. When she turned fully round to face him, wrapping her legs around his hips, with him gently guiding her into place, he said, "You've done this before in here, haven't you." "Oh, many times," She said with such nonchalance that it made him smile. When her boiling heat enclosed him, he realised that she was already very close to orgasm. In this position, it was far easier to keep on touching her clit, perhaps making it the Holy Grail of female sex, the combination of intercourse with clitoral stimulation. They rocked gently back and forth because of the water, meaning that this time, Ric knew he really would last forever. But Connie couldn't, that hand of his was just far too good. She knew she could never go back to the likes of Mubbs up himself Hussein after this. "I'm sorry, I can't wait," She said as her breathing quickened. Increasing the speed in his fingers, Ric moved his other hand to tease her nipples as she clung to him, Connie burying her face in his neck, because she felt ever so slightly ashamed of her inability to last under his hands. He kept sliding in and out of her as her orgasm approached, pressing his lips to her cheek, in a little gesture of generosity, to tell her that her not being able to wait for him didn't matter. As a result of his continual movement inside her, during and after her orgasm, Connie felt another one building almost straight away. This time, Ric joined her in the gradual ascent, holding her to him as they came for his second, and Connie's fourth time. As they gently disentangled themselves, Connie slumping back into her previous position lying against his shoulder, she half laughed. "That was certainly unexpected," She said, taking a hefty slug of her glass of wine. "Hmm," Ric said, briefly feeling the pulse in her neck, which was galloping, just like one of the horses he used to back. "Definitely tachycardic, resulting from extreme sexual excitement." "You don't say," Connie replied dryly. "You'll have to cardiovert me if you do that again." 

Half an hour later, they were lying again in her enormous king-sized bed, though this time with the duvet over them. Ric had found a spare toothbrush in her bathroom cabinet, and it had briefly occurred to him that she probably kept a few in stock for whichever man happened to stay over. She was lying in his arms now, her arms around him and her head on his chest. "It's funny," She said drowsily. "But it's really very rare that anyone actually spends the entire night in this bed apart from me." He gently ran his fingers through her hair, thinking that she might be about to drift into the melancholy stage of being a little drunk and a little stoned. "Yet you have possibly the largest bed I've ever seen," He replied, thinking that this must only serve to accentuate how alone she really was. Then it occurred to him that she might not want him to stay. "Do you want me to go?" He asked. "No," She said immediately, slightly tightening her arms around him for a second. "Stay. It's nice having someone here, and I will definitely regret saying that in the morning." "I'd rather you didn't regret any of this in the morning," He said gently, also enjoying the luxury of having a soft, warm female body nestling up against him. "We'll see," She said, always the one to have the last word. As he listened to her breathing becoming slow and steady, he wondered if tomorrow, after the effects of the dope, the alcohol and the sex had worn off, she would go back to her old, closed off self. He didn't want her to, he realised, he wanted to get to know Connie Beauchamp, to begin to undo the web of tightly woven defences that she kept round her, keeping anyone from getting remotely close to the woman she really was. 


	128. Chapter 128

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Twenty Eight

When Ric awoke on the Thursday morning, Connie's soft, warm body was still nestling up against him, though she had turned over in her sleep and was now lying with her back to him. His arm rested over her waist, with his hand gently cupping her right breast. He could hear her deep, regular breathing, and as he glanced over at the bedside clock, he saw that they had at least an hour before the alarm was due to interrupt their slumber. As his hand softly stroked Connie's breast, she drifted languidly into consciousness. "Good morning," She said, in a much deeper, slightly husky voice that was partially due to sleep, and the dope of the evening before. "I didn't mean to wake you," Ric said apologetically, making to remove his hand from her breast. "Oh, be my guest," Connie said with a smile in her voice, covering his hand with hers and imprisoning it against her skin. As he continued caressing her softness, Connie stretched languorously, turning over to face him in the process. "This really is a most agreeable way to be woken up," She said before kissing him. Their kisses were gentle and lingering, not the almost feverish exploration of the night before. Ric privately agreed with her assessment of the situation, it having been years since he'd woken up with a beautiful woman in his arms. As their touching took its inevitable path, Connie discovered his quite obvious reaction to her proximity. "Nice to find a man to be quite so responsive," She commented, whilst tenderly massaging his erection. "Connie, you far too often give me that reaction, even when you're shouting," He told her between kisses. "I do not, shout, Mr. Griffin," Connie said firmly. "I merely instruct." "Tell that to Will Curtis," Ric said dryly. "Mr. Curtis just needs to learn a little professional respect, that's all, and discussion of the many and varied annoyances of said Mr. Curtis, is hardly conducive to sexual satisfaction, now is it." "Oh, and I thought that power was your interminable aphrodisiac," He said, his hand slipping between her slightly spread legs, discovering to his delight just how aroused she already was. "It has been known," She said with a smile, but then abandoned all coherent thought as his fingers moved on and inside her. "Now I know where all that surgical skill comes from," She said a little breathlessly, gently cupping his testicles in her hand. When their bodies eventually joined, their male and female parts fitting in perfect synchrony, they rocked gently to and fro, their arms around each other as they lay on their sides. Early mornings were meant for this long, slow, incredibly gentle form of lovemaking, designed to reawaken the senses, in preparation for the new day ahead. 

After their conjoined climax, Connie had drifted back to sleep, as Ric lay and simply revelled in the soft warmth emanating from her. He could get used to this, he realised with a start, used to waking up with a beautiful woman, and used to going to sleep with her too. But becoming emotionally attached to Connie wouldn't do him or her any good whatsoever. However, he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to at the very least begin to build some sort of friendship with her. Slipping quietly out of bed, he pulled on his boxer shorts, and made his way downstairs to make them both a cup of tea. He hadn't seen the kitchen the night before, but he was pleasantly surprised at the warm, natural look of it, as though Connie did on occasions really enjoy working in it, creating food with the same level of skill as she exhibited with everything else she did with her hands. Having brewed two steaming mugs of tea, he went back upstairs, to see that Connie was half-awake, her eyes staring blearily up at him. "Keep doing things like that," She said, sitting up and taking one of the mugs from him. "And you can stay as often as you like." "Thank you for the compliment," Ric said dryly, sliding back under the duvet and taking a swig from his own mug. Laying a hand briefly on his thigh, she said, "Thank you," Which surprised him. "What for?" He couldn't help but ask. Connie shrugged. "The tea, last night, making me feel more alive than I have in a long time, I'm not sure." "My pleasure," He said sincerely, resting a hand over hers. As Ric took a long, hot shower, Connie relaxed, the extra few minutes in bed providing her with a rarely attained luxury. But when he emerged and began to dress, she dragged herself reluctantly from beneath the goose-feather duvet. "I take it that mornings are not your preferred time of the day," Ric observed dryly, taking in her deliciously proportioned form as she stretched with all the grace and agility of a cat. "No," She said with a yawn. "Though this morning did prove to be the exception," She added, planting a quick kiss on his cheek as she passed. "If you're hungry," She said as she went into the bathroom. "Help yourself to whatever you can find." Taking her at her word, Ric went downstairs and made himself some toast and coffee, listening to the sounds she made as she went through her usual morning routine. The sun rose as he sat eating at the kitchen table, and he looked out of the window to find a long and spacious garden, complete with a swimming-pool, which no doubt accounted for Connie's exquisitely toned body. When she appeared, she was again clad in her usual professional garb, with make up applied and hair washed and brushed. As he handed her a mug of coffee, he caught the waft of her usual perfume, combined with the fresh aromas of soap and shampoo. Her teeth were gleaming, and she looked perfect in every respect. As she peeled and ate a banana, she leaned against the kitchen unit, smirking at the way his eyes widened at the blatantly sexual way she consumed the fruit. "What do you have planned for this morning?" She asked, dropping the banana skin into the kitchen bin. "Check in on my patients at the Hadlington," He said, referring to the private hospital where George was currently housed. "And then I have a full afternoon's list at St. Mary's." "Then would you like a lift to work?" She asked. "As I have an outpatient clinic at the Hadlington this morning, and I wouldn't mind being with you when you check in on George Channing." Agreeing that he would like a lift to work, Ric asked if they could make a detour to his flat on the way, so that he could exchange his clothes for fresh ones. 

When they arrived at the hospital, it was nearing nine o'clock, and the new professional day was beginning with full force. Making their way towards George's room, both Ric and Connie were wondering how she was about to react to her presence. Yesterday, George had ignored Ric and shouted at Connie, so anything was possible. But when they pushed open the door to her room, George looked up with a smile. "You're looking happier this morning," Ric commented as he moved towards the bed, knowing that he was about to shatter this in pretty short order. "I owe you an apology for yesterday, both of you," She said, looking between them as she spoke. "No, you don't," Ric and Connie said simultaneously, both slightly smiling at how they'd spoken in tandem. "George, everyone deals with this type of disaster in very different ways," Connie tried to explain to her, moving to the other side of the bed. "Mr. Griffin is, I'm sure, very used to the silent treatment by now, and I did after all come looking for the verbal dressing down I received from you. So, no apologies are necessary." "What I do need to do, however," Ric told her, knowing that all her barriers were about to go right back up. "Is to look at your wound again. Do you have any objections?" "Would it make the slightest difference if I said yes, I have all the objections you could possibly think of?" George replied bitterly. "No, I'm afraid it wouldn't," Ric told her regretfully, knowing that this was something he had to do today. "Well then, why ask?" George demanded acidly. "Its not as though pointless civility is going to get either of us very far, is it." Taking George's right hand gently between her own, Connie said, "Try to calm down, because the higher your blood pressure goes, the longer you will be staying here." As Ric carefully drew back the bedclothes, and moved aside the edge of George's hospital gown, George visibly cringed, turning her face away from him, only to meet Connie's gentle gaze. But as Ric removed the dressing and padding covering the place where George's left breast had once been, George reflexively moved her left arm to cover the part of her body she now loathed. "I don't want you to see it," She said, looking straight at Connie. They could both see the tears in George's eyes, and Ric now all too clearly understood what Connie had said last night. She had told him that George had reacted to her because she was an entirely whole, very complete woman, and George's fear of Connie's seeing how ugly she now may look was proof enough that Connie had been right. "Sweetheart," Connie said, sounding gentler and more remorseful than Ric had ever heard her. "I already have seen it, when you were in theatre." "I don't care," George replied helplessly, the tears now running down her face. "You're so beautiful, and I…" She stopped, as yet unable to put how she felt into words. Sitting down in the chair beside George's bed and still holding her hand, Connie strove to reassure her. "George, look at me," She commanded her gently. When George's fear filled eyes raised to meet hers, Connie continued. "See, I'm not looking at you, at least not at the bit of you that you would rather I avoid. Mr. Griffin is quite capable of seeing to his own handiwork. So, why don't you tell me what you're most afraid of? Mr. Griffin has always claimed not to be an expert in matters of the heart, but between you and me, he's had enough marriages to be given the title of Professor in the subject." "Oh, thanks," Ric commented dryly which brought a slight watery smile to George's face. "I just can't help thinking how, ugly, John will find me after this," George admitted, reaching for a tissue to dry her eyes. "You don't know that he will," Ric told her reasonably, as he cleaned and began to redress the wound, and realising that they were clearly talking about the Judge. "Connie, that day I caught you with John, I got to see precisely what John finds desirable these days, in every minute detail. Let's face it, Ric," She said, turning her gaze up to his. "Knowing Mrs. Beauchamp as intimately as you do, you can't exactly disagree with the fact that her body is far more appealing than mine is ever likely to be after this, now can you." Stopping in his tracks, momentarily stunned by her question, Ric's eyes strayed to Connie. "How on earth do you know about that?" He said, his eyes moving back to George's face. "Mr. Griffin, information that I may receive that allows me to ruthlessly browbeat any witness who did without doubt incur my extreme displeasure, comes from a source that must of course remain entirely confidential." "Ah, that reminds me," Connie said a little evilly. "I haven't yet suitably punished Mr. Curtis for that little indiscretion." "Will Curtis," Ric said thoughtfully. "Well, that's the last time I defend his professional honour. But to answer your question," He continued, his gaze softening as it met George's troubled one. "I'm not going to give you any false reassurances, because I am not in a position to do so. But what I will suggest, is that you do at least give the Judge a chance. You have no idea how he is going to react, never mind how you yourself will react the first time you look in a mirror. So the best advice I can give you, is not to worry about crossing a bridge before you come to it." 

As Ric moved her gown and the bedclothes back into place, the door opened to reveal Tricia. "Ric," She said without preamble. "Diane needs you back at St. Mary's. She's got an emergency that requires your attention." "Oh, great," Ric muttered darkly, and then looked over at Connie with a thoughtful look on his face. "You have an outpatient clinic here this morning, don't you," He said, and she thought she could see what was coming. "You know I do,." She replied with a suspicious look at him. "Please can I borrow your car?" He asked, proving her suspicion absolutely right. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't an emergency," He continued under her steely gaze. "Because I know that you wouldn't usually lend me your car in a million years." The expression on his face was beseeching her to give in, his eyes reminding her of how good he had been to her last night and this morning. "Oh, all right," She said, capitulating with a hardly graceful acceptance of the situation. Digging in her jacket pocket, she handed over her keys with a dire warning. "Crash it, sell it, or damage it in any way, and your testicles will be removed without an anaesthetic and donated for medical research. Is that understood?" "Perfectly," Ric said with a slight shudder, taking the keys and walking towards the door. "I'll leave the keys in your office." "You do that," She called as he exited the room. When he had gone, George asked with a smirk, "Do you always follow up on your threats?" "Every time," Connie told her firmly. "Though that particular threat hasn't ever had to be fulfilled, but I suppose there's time." "Maybe that was where I went wrong," George said speculatively, and at Connie's raised eyebrow she continued. "When I was married to John, something else you didn't know, I never once threatened to leave him when I found out about his flings. I put up with them time and time again, well, until Jo. Maybe if I had threatened to leave him, he would have stopped, but I doubt it. If I wasn't enough for him in the first place, then my threatening to leave him would hardly have curbed his wandering." "I didn't know you two had been married," Connie said thoughtfully. "Yes, for nine not so happy years. The first two were wonderful, but after our daughter arrived, everything changed, and I couldn't keep him happy any more." "Why?" Connie asked, but her question seemed to bring George to her senses. "I've already told you far too much about that," She replied, removing her hand from Connie's and attempting to put some distance between them. "All right," Connie said, trying to calm George's shattered nerves. "But you have given me a puzzle to solve." "Don't try and work it out," George told her seriously. "Because you might not like what you find." 

About an hour after Connie had left to begin her outpatient clinic, John appeared. "You're looking a bit better," He said, bending to kiss her. "Sorry I was so uncommunicative yesterday," She said, kissing him back. "Oh, that's all right," John said as he sat down. "I was worried about you, that's all." "John," George said carefully. "There's something I need you to do for me. I hate to have to ask you to do it, but I think that Charlie will take the news far better coming from you than she would from me." "Yes," John said a little heavily. "I was wondering when I should tell her." "Please could you try and do it some time before I come home?" "No time like the present," John replied, gathering all his inner strength for the task ahead. "I'll do it today. What about your father?" "John, I can ask you to inform Charlie, but I can't ask you to tell Daddy as well." "And you're in no fit state to do it yourself," John told her, gently stroking her cheek as he did so. "There's very little I can really do to make all this easier for you, but telling your father is something I can do and will do. It is something I will find extremely difficult, but you would currently find it harder still." "I'm sorry," George said in a slightly hoarse voice, inwardly cursing the tears that threatened to yet again spill over. "What for?" John asked in slight astonishment. "For everything," She replied, her voice full of self-loathing. "For this, for keeping it from you, for giving you the highly disagreeable task of telling my father and Charlie, for being wholly unable to do anything but cry, for…" But John had gently laid a finger across her lips, cutting off her protestations. "George, none of this is your fault," He tried to convince her. "Yes, I wish that you had told me, and that you had done something about this sooner, but that's a conversation we will have when you are somewhat stronger. As for the rest of it, no one can help getting cancer, and if putting Charlie and your father in the picture is the one thing I can do to help you through it, then that is what I will do. As for your not being able to stop crying, that is a perfectly natural reaction to everything that's happened this week. You've been keeping this to yourself for such a long time, that the stress had built up and up, and only now are you beginning to release it." "I know," She said miserably. "I just hate the uselessness of it, that's all." "George, you were depressed before you found that lump, and that has only intensified how low you already were, so don't continue to beat yourself up about it." 

At around twelve thirty when Connie had finished her outpatient clinic, she stood at the desk, updating various patient files, whilst Tricia tried in vain to summon a cab for her. "God knows what's got everyone so busy on a Thursday lunchtime," Tricia said as she put the phone down for what felt like the hundredth time. "They're probably all trying to get somewhere like me," Connie replied disgustedly. As he left George's room, on his way to find Charlie, John heard this exchange, and as he approached Connie from behind, her stance reminded him fleetingly of both an irritated George and an obstinate Charlie. Walking up to her, he laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "Before you stamp your foot in outrage, just as my daughter used to do when she was five, would you like a lift?" Turning her fiery eyes on him, Connie couldn't help but smile at the picture he had just painted. "Yes, thank you, I would, if it isn't too much out of your way." "Are you trying to get to St. Mary's?" "Yes," Connie said, the stress gradually leaving her. "I have a triple bypass booked for one o'clock, and this particular patient won't be very amused if I'm late." "Then allow me," John said, his usual suave sophistication slipping back into place. "That is the last time I lend Ric Griffin my car," She said as they walked down the stairs and towards the outside. "Did you owe him a favour?" John asked as they moved out into the car park and towards his car. "Yes, in a manner of speaking," Connie replied, smirking at the relaxation Ric had provided the night before, and thinking that she probably owed him the loan of her car ten times over for that particular favour. 


	129. Chapter 129

Part One Hundred and Twenty Nine John fished out his mobile, and pressed the button to bring up Charlie's real voice rather than the artificial callback voice and standardized greeting. To his mixed relief and fear, the real Charlie answered the phone.  
"Hi dad." "Are you particularly busy right now?" "I've been working at home on a case and I've got as far as I can. I've got time"  
John had mixed feelings about his daughter's bright, relaxed tones, that warmed especially to him, but cooled fast whenever George came to be around. Charlie's dysfunctional attitude to her mother had always made him feel guilty. It wasn't normal for a daughter to be so glassily estranged from a mother. When he thought about it, he had made himself over to travel far away from his Birmingham roots, by his public school education, the accent that went with it, his successful career, his restless rebellious questioning mind but he would not and could not abandon his sense of what defined a family. He could not help but wonder if he and George had stayed together, Charlie would not be so chillingly dismissive of George. The cruel chain of logic could not help but condemn his serial philandering as the main reason why his marriage had broken down in the first place. His therapy sessions with Helen Wade had made that all too plain. He remembered that, as the events of his separation and divorce unreeled, it left emotional fallout of shock and trauma on both sides. It seemed that his and George's best achievement at this time, was that they had maintained the decencies and had came to an understanding on Charlie's upbringing. When John took over Charlie's upbringing, it had fallen smoothly into place and made sense. He had no conception of how a bright, lively uncomplicated seven-year-old little girl could develop, as she got older as those were innocent days. 

He had done his best to bring up Charlie as best as he could. He was true to her as a father could be in his fashion and she had been the light in his life. It wasn't necessarily easy as he recalled her favourite expression "It's not fair" as she tried to break down his parental resolve with liberal guilt trip. Somehow, he had walked the uncertain tightrope wire that modern parents have to tread. The old formulas seemed like ancient history, and somehow repellently oppressive. He had greeted the modern enlightened age with pleasure, and had embraced the freedom to work out his own principles in a world that had no guidelines, no manuals and no precedents. He had done well that the worst that Charlie had done was to get into and out of a scrape in her animal rights activism even if it had subjected his liberal values to the most severe test imaginable.

"I wanted just to pop round and see you. I woke up this morning, and suddenly realized that I hadn't seen you for a bit"  
"Dad, you know that I'm a single independent woman and I've left home. You know what that means. You live your life and I live my life and once in a while, we bump into each other when we have the time"  
Charlie's laughing reply only made him feel more uncomfortable and contrived. It did not make him feel better that she never mentioned George.  
"I'll be round in half an hour or so."

John slid his mobile into his pocket, and strode after Connie who ran one sharp glance over his face. She resolved to keep things light, as George's last words were ringing in John's ears. Stone faced, he walked to his car. It was a sleek grey bullet of power, a convertible which was covered up to face the bitter winter weather. "I ought to have known, John." Connie laughed.  
"I beg your pardon"  
"Your choice of car. It is exactly what I would expect of you"  
"Oh? I like to feel the fresh air round my head on a hot summer's day after a day spent in the stale atmosphere of court." "That is not the reason for your choice of car. It would be hardly your style to drive a nice conventional, safe saloon car or a Rolls Royce to demonstrate your respectability. No, you choose to drive a convertible, the one car that symbolic of a mistress."

"Well, since you put it that way," began John with a wry smile." There may be something in that"  
He relaxed back into his seat and turned the ignition on. He dabbed his foot down sharply on the accelerator, supposedly to clean out the engine's pipelines with a quick burst of power.  
"There's nothing like the feeling of raw power, is there"  
"Isn't there just?" John retorted as he put the car into gear and swung his car out onto the open road, promptly speeding past the first family saloon with its nodding dog in the rear window. As Connie chatted away to him, she flirted fairly discreetly. It came natural to her when she was in the presence of an attractive man but this time, she kept that side of her loosely but definitely reined in. She knew better than to let things get out of hand as she had done, the last time she was alone with him.Moreover, she could sense that tension in him under his suave exterior. All she sought, was to lift his spirits until he came to his eventual destination. As John swung into the car park of St Mary's hospital, Connie turned to him and fixed him with her violet eyes. "I really don't know anything about children apart from being one a very long time ago. I just hope you find the right words for Charlie, John. Anyway, thanks for the lift"  
Her well-modulated voice temporarily lost that tone of cool control and betrayed a flicker of anxiety for him before her more nonchalant ending. She smiled briefly at him, stepped neatly from the car, waved briefly at him and was gone.

As John drove on, he felt that he had lost that feeling of protection. Connie was an independent woman, fully formed, with her own destiny. Charlie was different as she had not got that far, and he could not for the life of him work out what he was going to say. On automatic pilot, he drove that short distance to Charlie's Paddington flat and pulled up outside. What was he going to say, he asked himself once again? As no answer was forthcoming, very nervously and very gingerly, he eased himself out of his car and paced his way to Charlie's front door and knocked lightly on the door.

"Dad, it's good to see you, whatever the reason you called"  
Charlie's simple expression of pleasure in his company touched John. This was as it had ever been.  
"I'm glad you didn't drive over too quickly. It gave me a chance to give the flat a quick tidy up"  
John grinned at that delicious understatement. He could imagine Charlie had stuffed discarded clothing into the convenient laundry basket, and washed a few days of accumulated plates and saucepans, leaving them to dry as a precarious structure on the rack. "Do you want a cup of tea or something stronger?" Charlie offered.  
"I'll stick with tea, please, Charlie"  
"Of course, dad, your one concession to caution and prudence"  
John sat back in the comparatively neat living room while Charlie disappeared into the kitchen, and shortly appeared with a tray, complete with what John judged to be the best and only cups and saucers. Charlie took pride of place as hostess with evident pleasure , and poured out two cups of tea. John sank back into the armchair, and sipped his cup of tea as his only prop with which he could protect himself.  
"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry we had that argument the other day. When I eventually calmed down, I did that research like you told me to and found out you were right"  
John dismissed that with a gesture. He had had his periodic blowups with Charlie and they both dismissed it the next day. This was the way that their relationship had always been between them. There was a sudden storm cloud, which soon blew itself out, leaving blue skies over both of them. "So how are you getting on, these days?" "Not so bad, these days." John temporized. It was strictly true that whatever was going on in his life wasn't going to the bad due to his own actions.  
"No woman trouble then"  
"If you mean, am I occupied in seeking perfection in women, except from the one whom I'm supposed to be involved with"  
"You normally are"  
"Not this time, Charlie. I am trying to get some kind of sense of identity, and I think I may be getting better at it"  
As he spoke, his memory of sleeping with Connie Beauchamp belonged in the past. It was curious these days, John mused. At one time this sort of questioning would have run in the opposite direction when, after all, Charlie was his daughter. Nowadays, it was he that was going through some 'born again' identity search, that was supposed to have come and gone in the late teens and early twenties at most. In contrast Charlie appeared as the stable one. "And granddad"  
"I run across him from time to time and he has been considerably invigorated ever since the performance of 'The Creation.' Between you and me, I suspect that he would love to be involved in another such enterprise." John found himself speaking with warmth and affection for him.

"I'm so glad that you and granddad are getting on better than you used to"  
"Well, Charlie, no matter how much the two of us are getting older, he still thinks of me as that young upstart liberal barrister who unaccountably won his daughter's hand in marriage despite the competition of all the Hooray Henrys. The irony is that he is becoming something of an old upstart now that we are starting to see eye to eye about the establishment"  
Charlie laughed at John's droll description.  
"So what are you doing with your life, these days?" "Well, I haven't much news for you, dad. I'm still forever balancing the demands of my job with the demands of my flat mate to go out on the town, clubbing. Sometimes, I get out to see some real life but I end up regretting it the next morning. There's nothing you need worry about that I can't handle"  
The conversation ground to a halt while Charlie's eyes focused on John's face. Though he liked to pretend to himself that he was inscrutable when he wanted to, it never worked with Charlie. She knew that there was something on his mind that he wanted to say but was struggling to come out with it. It perturbed her.  
"Have you seen your mother recently, Charlie?" he eventually asked far too casually to be convincing.  
To John's distress, Charlie's face fell and all the light went out of her expression.  
"I went round to see her a month ago to see her briefly. I guess she was OK. She had some American pathologist staying with her, a glamorous professional type"  
"That would have been Kay Scarpetta. She appeared before me in court and George was kindly putting her up at her house. She's a very impressive, formidable woman, who earned a lot of respect from all of us. Still, I'm glad you went to keep in touch with your mother"  
"Not quite, dad. I went to borrow money off her"  
"Ah"  
"I got the usual lecture from the Ice Maiden about being careful about my career as if you ever were." Charlie said with understated disgust.  
Normally, Charlie's cruel expression for her mother would have hurt John, but he saw that opening into what he had to say. He had to seize that chance or it would be gone forever.  
"You ought to be very careful how you talk about your mother"  
"Don't you start your misplaced loyalty routine." Charlie started to snap before John interrupted her in grim, very precisely articulated tones. "…….because that expression assumes a certain indestructibility about her. She normally gives that impression, but appearances can be deceptive as I have learned to my cost"  
"What on earth are you saying, dad? You're speaking in riddles"  
John took a deep breath and the words he was seeking came out of his unconsciousness, untypically neither preprepared nor polished.  
"Because I have to tell you that your mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer"  
Charlie's mouth hung open and her face turned white with shock and disbelief. "This can't be real, dad"  
"I only wish it weren't, Charlie"  
"So what's been going on? I don't understand"  
"Charlie, if I tell you the simple unvarnished truth, then I am going to take you up on your many protestations that you're over eighteen and you are free to lead your own life. Well, this is what freedom means to deal with matters like this." John said in grim tones as his way to somehow protect the two of them, but it came over to Charlie as intolerably accusing. All her father's past reproaches about her treatment of her mother came echoing their way out of her memory.  
"You're not being fair, dad"  
"Neither is cancer." Charlie got out of her chair and started to walk round the living room in a fevered, uncoordinated way. Instinct told John to give her as much time as she needed. It seemed hours later on, that Charlie dropped herself back in her chair and asked the first question that she could come up with.  
"All right, dad, I promise to behave….so how long has this been going on and what's happening now"  
"I have to tell you that the hospital says that your mother's condition goes back to last Christmas. She had kept this quiet from everyone until recently. When it finally came to light, she was rushed into a private hospital and they had to operate. They did their very best but it was too late to save her breast."

It cut John to the quick to talk about George in such clinical terms but it was the only way he could get over the sense of what had happened. "How long have you known about this, dad"  
"Two days ago. Jo phoned me while I was lecturing at Warwick University. By then, she was already in hospital"  
"So where does Jo come into the picture"  
"George told Jo about it, and Jo ran her to the hospital and stayed with her."

This was a facer for Charlie. Her mother's worst enemy, or so she had been led to believe, had acted like Florence Nightingale.  
"Why didn't I know about this earlier"  
"How would you have reacted if I had told you, Charlie"  
This was getting worse and worse for Charlie. She fell silent at that incisive question. She could not pretend to herself that she would definitely come over all sympathy. There was yet another painful pause until John reluctantly took the initiative.

"You have to see your mother to give her your support. She'll need it." "I need time to think this one through." Exclaimed Charlie, putting her hands to her head.  
"Take your time, but never assume that time is infinite"  
"What do you mean?" "Because I wasted too much time locked in bitter enmity with your mother until times changed so that we could become friends again. Your mother knows it too. We have grown to realize how much we see in each other, how precious human life is and that all human life is shorter than we think it is, especially where parents are concerned." "Well, thanks for the fatherly advice. I may listen to it." Charlie said at last with a shaky laugh and her attempt at cool.  
"This is not your father talking, it's only John"  
Charlie looked wide eyed at the middle aged handsome man sitting across the way from her, his words so controlled yet naked for all to see and his pent up emotions of intense grief, only bottled up so that he could persuade Charlie to do what she had to do without breaking down in tears. 


	130. Chapter 130

A/N: All lyrics come from Katie Melua's album Piece by Piece. Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Thirty

On the Thursday afternoon, Karen had a meeting at area, with all the other prison governors within the London catchment zone. She might have been the only female governor among them, but that didn't mean she felt in any way inferior to them. Karen Betts could hold her own with these slightly old fashioned, and at times set in their ways group of male masters of destiny, and Neil always found himself feeling extremely proud of the way she dealt with them. Karen didn't take any of their attempts to disregard her as an irritating inconvenience, and they usually went away feeling more than a little ruffled by her determination and way of cutting straight to the chase. The prison hierarchy was still very much dominated by masculine tendencies to try and remove any female from their conversations. But when all the others had left, and Alison Warner had retreated back to her own office, Karen was left with Neil and was almost ready to scream. "Am I really as bloody insignificant as they make me feel?" She demanded virtually as soon as the door of his office had closed. "Of course you're not," Neil told her placatingly. "You just frighten them, that's all. They're not used to a woman holding the same authority as they do. Don't forget, most of the people in that meeting this afternoon, have been in their jobs longer than Simon Stubberfield was ever likely to remain in his." "I bet some of them still play golf with him," Karen said bitterly. "Karen, you are extremely good at your job," He tried to persuade her. "Because if you weren't, we both know that I'd have you out of it without your feet even touching the ground." "Oh, thanks for the warning," Karen said dryly. "Would you like some coffee?" Neil asked. "In lieu of a cigarette?" Karen smiled. "Yes, though any more nervous stimulation probably isn't the answer." Asking his secretary to bring them some coffee, Neil relaxed back in the chair behind his desk. "So, how have you been since Tuesday?" Instantly, Karen's face seemed to close off from him, as though she was fervently trying to bury all her feelings under her usual professional mask. "I'm not really sleeping, and I'm taking it out on everyone in sight," She said, much to her surprise, as she hadn't planned to tell him anything resembling the truth. "But I'd far rather be where I am than where George is now." "How is she?" Neil asked, seeing that Karen was beginning to crack at the seams, though he knew she would never admit it to him. "Well, after having lost her entire left breast, she's hardly jumping for joy," Karen replied bitterly. "And the worst thing, at least from my point of view, is that I have no idea how to help her." "As your staff won't know what time to expect you back," Neil said thoughtfully. "Why don't you go and see her, now I mean." "That, Mr. Grayling," Karen said with a tired wink. "Is what they call taking advantage of the situation to go on the skive. But I'm hardly about to say no." Digging a note out of his wallet, Neil handed it to her. "Get her some flowers or something from me on the way, and tell her I'll be in touch when she's a bit more up to it." Giving him a smile, Karen put the note in her pocket, thinking that here was another good friend that George wasn't really aware she had. 

After picking up some flowers from Neil and a CD from herself, Karen drove over to the hospital, hoping that George was in the mood for a visitor. She hadn't actually seen George since the previous Thursday, when she'd accompanied her to the appointment with Ric. God, so much seemed to have happened since then, that it felt like years ago instead of merely one week. When she arrived, Karen walked up to where she'd come last week with George, finding the same nurse behind the desk. "I've come to see George Channing," She said by way of a greeting. "She's just down there," Tricia gestured in the direction of the corridor. "Number six. Would you like me to find a vase for those?" She asked, looking in appreciation at the bouquet of beautiful lilies that Karen held in one hand. "Yes please," Karen replied with a smile. "I'm hoping they might cheer her up." 

When Karen quietly pushed open the door of George's room, she found her listlessly trying to stay interested in one of the books she'd brought with her. But when she looked up to see Karen moving towards her, her face broke into a warm smile. "This is a nice surprise," She said, as Karen bent to kiss her cheek. "I thought it was about time I came to see you," Karen said a little sheepishly. "How are you feeling?" "Sore, bored and miserable," George told her emphatically. "Those lilies are beautiful." "Ah well, I had a meeting with area management this afternoon, so they're from Neil. He said he'd be in touch when you were out of hospital and feeling a little more up to it." "That was nice of him," George said as Karen laid the flowers on the table in readiness for the vase she hoped Tricia would find. "I didn't mean to tell him," Karen confessed as she sat down in the chair by George's bed. "But I was possibly less than attentive during our meeting on Tuesday, and he does have this way of worming things out of me." "It's all right," George assured her. "One thing I am gradually coming to terms with is that everyone I know, will eventually become aware of this in one way or another." "Seeing as I knew you would probably be incredibly bored by now," Karen said with an affectionate smile. "I bought you this," She said, digging the CD out of her handbag and laying it on the table with the flowers. "Thank you, darling," George said, thinking that some new music might not be such a bad idea. 

Karen stayed for a good couple of hours, listening as George poured out all the bitterness and frustration that she didn't feel able to load onto either Jo or John. But Karen was happy to do this, feeling that if this was all she could do, then it was definitely better than nothing. "When do you think they'll let you out?" She asked, it crossing her mind that the terminology for leaving hospital and leaving prison weren't all that dissimilar. "Hopefully Saturday," George said darkly. "But you know what it's like, they try not to make you any promises they might not be able to keep. Then I've got to come back next Wednesday to have the stitches out, which is probably when I'll find out just what sort of a state they've left me in, and the week after I'll be starting a course of chemotherapy. Lovely, isn't it." "If you ever want me to come with you, you only have to say," Karen promised her quietly. "Darling, much as that offer is appreciated, you have to work as much as Jo and John do." "And all three of us can afford to make the effort to be flexible," Karen told her firmly. "So just keep it in mind." "There is something you could do for me, if you would," George said tentatively. "Please could you put any of our friends who ought to know in the picture? I've given John the less than enjoyable task of informing Charlie and my father, but if you could tell Nikki and Helen etc, that would certainly help." "Of course I will," Karen said, thinking this a very small favour to ask, and thinking that with a little planning this could probably be accomplished this evening. 

When Karen had finally left, assuring George that she knew where to find her if she wanted anything, George picked up the CD Karen had bought her. She had been introduced to Katie Melua's music by Jo, and had found it both soothing and thought provoking. Karen had bought her the new album, and George immediately retrieved her CD player, the headphones shutting out the world and taking her mind somewhere else entirely. The first two songs were relaxing enough, allowing George's thoughts to drift, but when she heard the words of the third, she couldn't help but realise that they all too clearly summed up what she would inevitably have to do to John and maybe Jo, push them away to prevent all three of them from being hurt more than was absolutely necessary. It wasn't something she even wanted to contemplate, but being unable to believe that they would want her when they saw what she now consisted of, her mind wouldn't allow her to think her proposed course of action anything less than vital to both her own and their eventual survival. 

"First of all must go, your scent upon my pillow, And then I'll say goodbye to your whispers in my dreams. And then our lips will part, in my mind and in my heart, 'Cause your kiss went deeper than my skin." 

"Piece by piece, is how I'll let go of you. Kiss by kiss, will leave my mind one at a time, one at a time. 

First of all must fly, my dreams of you and I, There's no point in holding onto those. And then our ties will break, for your and my own sake, Just remember this is what you chose." 

It was this last line that hurt her the most, because pushing those who loved her away was her choice, not theirs, not anyone's but hers. It had been her choice all along now that she came to think about it, her choice to hide from the cancer that had invaded her body, her choice to hide it from them, and it was now her choice to try and protect the two people she loved from what was yet to come. 


	131. Chapter 131

Part One Hundred and Thirty-One

Time had no meaning for John now, as he drove over to Joe Channing's house. He felt that he was on some perpetual journey, while time lay suspended. The minutiae of his profession, lying on the table in his chambers lay in some other dimension, that was separated from him. He had pulled one rabbit out of a hat in talking to Charlie about her mother, but wouldn't lay bets that he could perform another miracle in talking to Joe Channing about his daughter. He dared not think of the effect that the bombshell would have on Joe. He knew only too well of self evident pride that Joe took in his very glamorous, successful daughter. The trouble was that he found it far too easy to identify with Joe's point of view, as he was a father himself.

As he sat patiently at a set of traffic lights, the irony was not lost on him that he was being called upon to exercise qualities quite different than those which paid him for a living. He normally scrutinized the detailed facts of a case ,nosed out those that were hidden from casual scrutiny, and applied the full scope of his retentive memory of legal precedent. Added on to this, was his sense of where he could find the law that he could not actually recall. Incisive thinking and an ordered memory had carried his career a long way. What he was called on to do was to show different qualities, to be wise and compassionate of speech, to be strong and supportive for others when he did not know if he was being strong enough for himself. All he knew was that he had to steel himself for what he had to do. His sense of irony picked up the stray thought that this was what Helen had to do for a living, and that he had relied on her strength. In a similar way, Connie's livelihood included supporting anxious patients and relatives alike.

He drove his car into the well remembered entrance, and drew up on the gravel drive. John smiled briefly at the huge edifice which was impossibly ornamental in its splendidly gothic style, being built in an era when money was no object. It was so obviously a relic of an aristocratic age, extravagant in its buttresses and sheer grandeur, and somehow typical of Joe Channing's family background. The elderly square-sided Rolls Royce similarly made no concessions to the modern age which, judging by the way it was going, was not necessarily a bad thing. The visible presence of Joe's mansion brought back feelings of gentle nostalgia in John, of uncomplicated days when he and George would call over to receive Joe's generous hospitality and for the two of them to lock horns in debate.. It was then that John had learned that, while politically he was to the right of Genghis Khan, he was certainly not stupid. In fact, he had often seen that hidden verbal gambit come from out of nowhere, and that only with an adroit lightning parry could he hold his own. At moments like these, George would fade into the background, as she tolerantly indulged the men at play or, if the return match was fought at their house, she would busy herself in the kitchen.

John's smile faded when he dragged himself out of the mists of the past to the present , and his spirits dropped further when Joe greeted him effusively. They headed straight towards Joe's comfortable sitting room, whose furnishings and huge bookcase had hardly changed in thirty years. If only times were different, John could bask in that comfortable feeling.  
"Do you want a malt whisky, John? I forgot, you don't often drink." Joe offered.  
"Well, just this time, Joe. Abstemiousness is all very well but it can be taken too far"  
"The politically correct brigade have a lot to answer for," rumbled Joe scornfully, reaching for the nearest pair of cut glass tumblers, and pouring out two generous measures. John is mellowing nicely over the years, he reflected, before continuing to hold forth on his take on the modern world.  
"The country has gone to the dogs, John. In my younger days, there was a level playing field and you stuck to it. There were standards, John, but it didn't stop us driving out to a nice country inn. We could drink some of the finest malt whiskies and be damned to puritanical licencing laws. We drove home all right without any trouble. No breathalisers in those days. Now, the country is run by the worst kind of spivs and racketeers imaginable, and to make it worse, they are intolerably mealy mouthed about enjoying some of life's simple pleasures. They want to inflict their miserable existences on other people. And talking about Houghton………" Joe broke off, grinning all over his face.  
"Couldn't agree with you more, Joe, especially about him"  
"You know, this feels like the old days. It's a pity George isn't here just to make this meeting complete. I suppose she is working on a case of hers"  
"Ahh." Murmured John.  
Joe shot a swift, keen look at the younger man. Despite their one time estrangement from each other and lack of contact, he could remember all of John's little mannerisms very well. That utterance meant that he had something to confess. "Have you seen George recently? In fact the last time I remember seeing her was about three weeks ago when she brought Kay Scarpetta, that very impressive American pathologist friend of hers. I suppose that she's been busy"  
"George has been busy all right." Murmured John in ominous tones despite his best attempts.  
"You mean in court? I heard about how George and Jo Mills secured Barbara's acquittal , no doubt thanks also to the trial being in your capable hands"  
John looked at the expectant, hopeful look in Joe's eyes. It clearly begged John to say that there was some harmless explanation of George's absence. He looked at the man and it worried him that Joe was looking older and more frail than his mental image of the man. It occurred to him that he could quite easily suffer a heart attack. For precious moments, he hovered in an uncharacteristic attack of indecisiveness before the words took shape.  
"You had better prepare yourself for news that is not good"  
"I don't understand…" "I've just been to see George in hospital today, as she was admitted there for a serious operation, and I volunteered to see you tonight to break the news to you." John articulated in deliberately slow and measured tones. "What operation?" Joe gasped, a wild look in his eye. John mentally registered Joe's awareness that the worst fate that could befall him had arrived.  
"I hate to say it Joe but I can put it no other way. Unknown to all of us, George has had breast cancer. When she finally came public on it, she went into hospital at very short notice but too late to save her breast"  
Joe's mouth hung open and he was speechless. It was as well that he was sitting comfortably, or else he would have collapsed. The silence was torture to John as it exposed him by forcing him to fill the silences. Eventually, Joe broke the silence in a faint gasp which trailed off. "Will she… "  
"George will be in hospital till the weekend, and will hopefully be able to go home but she'll be off work for a bit. She will need a course of chemotherapy. I think she's in the very best hands at the Hadlington hospital. I know that for a fact because two of the people looking after her appeared as witnesses at Barbara's trial"  
John's voice faded away, as Joe suddenly turned and poured himself a very large measure of neat whisky. He drank it down with a rapidity that surprised and alarmed John. However, he supposed that there was no alternative.  
"I'm sorry, John, but I didn't hear what you were saying. She'll live, won't she"  
Joe's eyes were vacant and his hand shook, as he placed the glass down on the side. John spoke clearly and distinctly as he carefully rephrased his remarks.  
" They said that George should be able to go home at the weekend but she'll be off work for a bit. She will need a course of chemotherapy. The three surgeons that we talked to will give her the very best care, not only because they are caring professionals but we know two of them as witnesses at Barbara's trial so they aren't total strangers……….." "We"  
"I was at the hospital with Jo Mills who accompanied George to hospital"  
"I thought that you were at Warwick"  
"Jo phoned me up two days ago so I hot footed it down here"  
As Joe refilled his glass, John was fairly sure that Joe had understood that simple statement, after looking glazed eyed at him with incomprehension. "She must get better. I mean, I always thought that George is in blooming health, so strong, while I am in the autumn of my life, helped along by drinking too much whisky." Joe pronounced in slightly slurred tones, drinking the second measure down with another gulp. John let Jo carry on with his drinking without comment. He joined him with a smaller measure of whisky, which he sipped. He knew that Joe needed some sort of anaesthetic, to dull his mind, and to cast some kind of foggy numbness to ease the pain and blunten its sharp edges. Why he did not get plastered on his own account, John could not work out afterwards. All he could think of was that it didn't feel right and that some obscure instinct repressed such a temptation. "I mean, I can remember George when she was little. It was only yesterday." Joe continued, his eyesight trying his best to focus on the portrait picture of her when she was eight. It held pride of place on the mantelpiece and he and his wife towering over her to left and right of her. He swore that if only he could focus his eyes, he could picture the innocent round cheeks and immaculately brushed golden hair of long ago. It fell down over her shoulders and exposed that pleased as punch expression on her face, as if she were the luckiest child on the planet. And indeed, she was, from what he remembered at the time.  
"I remember when her mother died. It was such a shock to me. She was the bravest child that there could ever have been." Sighed Joe, talking half to himself.  
"I almost envy George her spirit." Murmured John somberly, his own dark memories stirred from their unquiet grave. His words were unheard by Joe except as a generalized response that took the edge off his loneliness and grief.  
"I can remember her holding my hand at the church service." Burst out Joe. He was talking in short random snatches of sentences from random thoughts that invaded his mind. "I never felt more wretched in my life when I saw the coffin being carried into the church "George has a lot to live for," reasoned John smoothly, "and you of all people know how obstinate she can be"  
So the evening wore on. Joe was locked into a primal fear, that not only his wife had been taken from him, but so would his daughter. John conjured up as much positive, hopeful spirit as he could to try and allay Joe's fears while a tiny portion of his mind secretly understood how Joe felt. So might he react if ever Charlie's life were ever threatened. They talked away the hours until Joe's voice became sleepier as the alcohol seeped into his consciousness and he finally drifted off to sleep in his chair.

John looked around, and became conscious of his surroundings. Apart from the grandfather clock in the hallway chiming out the hour, an utter silence hung over the house. It felt as if all of them were somehow removed from the busy, bustling world in some other dimension of existence. The low lights cast a glow in the room but left much of the room shadowed in darkness. John took in the details of the furnishings which had hardly changed over the decades and weren't greatly different from when he had first visited, many years ago. He sank back in his chair and waited. He was tired enough on his own account, now he came to think of it. "How do you feel about everything, John?" Joe suddenly mumbled out of nowhere though the natural resonance of his tones made him still audible. He was slumped deep in his armchair while next to him, the level in the whisky bottle had dropped alarmingly. For the first time in his life, John's mind went totally blank. He had spent the last two days rushing round from one disconnected event to another, talking to surgeons and trying to remember every last syllable while his memory felt fogged up, unreliable, finally acting as social worker cum councilor. Buried deep below this frenzy of activity were his own feelings. He could not even begin to describe them.  
"I'm sorry to say that I don't know. I suppose that I feel somewhat helpless and this goes against the grain. It doesn't usually happen to me. I remember a couple of times when George went through one of her anorexic phases and at least I could do something about it. I could try and understand her and talk to her. I feel very strongly that the spoken word can change things. After all, that is why I set out to become a high court judge. All I know is that I can't help her now the way I want to"  
"I'm sure there's a way"  
"I can't lose her, Joe" John murmured in a soft tone.  
"Well, we'll have to make sure we don't." Joe tried to answer, making a better attempt at adult reassurance than his alcohol intake merited.  
What should he do, John wondered? He had gradually sipped at his glass and had refilled it as time had gone on and he doubted if he would pass the breathaliser test if he were stopped, especially knowing how potent Joe's whisky was. He dared not take the chance.

Suddenly, Joe's housekeeper made a tactful entrance into the room and John's tired mind made one last decision. If it weren't inconveniencing anyone, he would stay the night. He knew very well that the bedrooms in Joe's mansion were very large and very cold but that was a minor consideration if he were to ensure that Joe at least got through that most difficult first night. 


	132. Chapter 132

Part One Hundred and Thirty-Two

As the immediate crisis of George's operation had passed, awareness was creeping into Karen's brooding thoughts that Jo and John were only the most immediate circle of those who knew George, who cared about her. As she sat back in her armchair on Thursday night, she reeled off the names in short order of those who must be told. These included Nikki, Helen, Barbara, Yvonne, Roisin and Cassie. She dismissed out of hand the idea of phoning through the news, as she would have to tell the same story many times over and it certainly didn't feel right. That is where the idea of a gathering came into her mind. She lit a cigarette, and started to puzzle as to over where would be a convenient place. Larkhall certainly had the rooms, but it had nowhere comfortable or friendly. Also, she had to consider that Larkhall was situated south of the river and the others had their lives and jobs situated all over London. At last, the obvious idea came to her mind and, with a smile of satisfaction, she picked up her phone.

"You're being very mysterious all of a sudden, Karen." Nikki enquired, as they strolled to their cars. "You phone me up at home to propose I join you and the rest of the gang in going down to the pub on a Thursday night. Not any pub but the one round the corner of the Old Bailey. It sounds a great idea but there's something that I just don't get."

"It somehow seems fitting, Nikki."Karen said enigmatically. "You wait and you'll find out."

To her intense relief, Nikki's natural curiosity seemed to evaporate. Perhaps, it was just the effect of a long hard week. At least it meant that, at this time of the year, it meant driving through sometimes sunlit streets, instead of through the cold, bleak rain lashed night. Karen smiled automatically at Nikki, as she got into her car but it faded as she reflected on the self imposed task she had in hand.

Hours later, Nikki led the way ahead of Helen and she pushed open the door of the pub. Immediately, she was wrapped up in intensely nostalgic feelings of good will. She and Helen had good mental associations with this pub, the scene of the intermission in the struggles for justice in court. It was where they celebrated their togetherness and inclusiveness in light hearted banter, that was more serious in purpose than they made out. Each of them was sensitive to the needs of each other, and made delicate adjustments as a matter of course. As they entered the large, airy room, she and Helen grinned as they caught sight of Karen, who had commandeered a long table and high backed chairs ready for them all.

"Hi Karen, long time no see." Helen greeted Karen Helen was right. It had felt a long time since they had seen each other, as they had been so busy with their own lives that time slipped through their fingers like fine sand. " I'm glad you're the organized one." "Well, someone's got to be the bossy one." Karen retorted.  
The atmosphere was the same as normal as Yvonne's cheering presence made itself felt, soon followed by Barbara's sense of calm, Cassie's mature form of brashness and Roisin's gentler maternal glow. Everything seemed right in the room, as each one of them lent their particular coloration to the whole. "How are you doing, Barbara?" Yvonne cheerily asked the other woman.  
"Working for the local council again. I must admit it is all very quiet and impersonal. Instead of the internal politics of parish life, I have petty minded office politics instead. They really haven't lived." "I bet they find you a dark horse, eh Babs"  
"That's the side of me they don't see." "Sorry to interrupt you all but I'm buying the first round. What do you all want?" Karen replied cheerily enough.  
They gathered round the table, drink in each hand and broke into the general delighted chatter of those old friends, who had not seen each other for some time. Karen's mouth moved to say the appropriate words and her smile seemed convincing. As her act was convincing enough, everything felt congenial to everyone except her.  
"I'm surprised Jo and George ain't here, but I suppose they're busy with the next trial. You never know, even the judge might have come here with us if he had the bottle." Yvonne broke in to make casual conversation.

Instead of the round of laughs that Yvonne had expected, a sudden silence descended on the room, while the rest of the pub sounds faded into the background. One glance at Karen betrayed her extreme discomfort for all to see.  
"Well, that's part of the reason I fixed this up, as well as meeting you all again. Time flies"  
"What's going on, Karen?" Nikki asked quietly.  
The other woman said nothing for a little while. She was torn between doing her duty, and not wanting to spoil the convivial atmosphere that had built up. It made her feel whole and relaxed and totally off duty, as nothing else in her life quite succeeded in doing.  
"I don't feel comfortable in breaking this news to you all but I have to tell you that George is in hospital for breast cancer. They operated on her but it was too late to save it. I must say that she is comfortable and being looked after"  
These hesitantly phrased words hit home like a bolt of lightning. It spoke of every woman's nightmare, and struck so deep that the other five verbally fluent women were lost for words.  
"I really hate to spoil the party but I had to tell you. It's been kept under wraps long enough as it is"  
"How long"  
Karen gave a big sigh as she confessed the truth under duress.  
"George has had it since last Christmas but never told a soul till she told me very recently. She saw a private doctor at short notice and Jo went with her to the hospital"  
There was a sharp intake of breath. Five very alert minds were mentally pencilling in the chronology of events, first and foremost being Barbara's trial.  
"So all the time George was standing up in court, she was putting her own health on the line." Cassie found herself saying on automatic pilot.  
"There's a bit in what you say, Cassie but there's more to it than that." Karen jumped in hastily, feeling very defensive for George, frowning at the other woman. Above all else, she did not want Barbara to feel guilty as if her troubles had kept George from seeking the medical treatment she had urgently needed. "From my experience of working in a hospital, I have seen too many women who have acted in the same way as George, from all walks of life and education. It goes right across the spectrum. The only difference is just how long they leave it. ……. It was one reason why I got out of nursing. Anyway, the latest that I've heard is that she's coming out of hospital on Saturday"  
"Is that good news or bad?" Nikki queried.  
"It's too early to say but the signs are fairly hopeful, but we have to follow this one step at a time." Karen found herself saying. Jesus, she really did feel as if she were wearing her button up the front nurses uniform instead of her favourite suits. It struck her, as she paused for breath that all the familiar expressions were rolling off the tongue as if it were only yesterday that she had last uttered these words. "The most important thing is that George is a fighter. You've all seen that. Believe you me, that will to survive will carry you a long way, more than conventional medicine would have you believe"  
"She will have John and Jo to help her through this one. They care." Broke in Helen to also strike the positive note. "And so do we, don't we." Roisin chimed, having carefully listened to every word that was said, while Cassie kept quiet. "She deserves our help"  
A glum silence fell on that part of the room. It went without saying that all of their sympathies were with George at a moment like this, the same as any of them, but they felt helpless to do anything practical. Flowers and get well cards were all very well but they seemed to fall well short of the mark. All of them broke into spontaneous expressions of sympathy, which started to hurt her head as she listened and finally, she cut the others short.  
"Look here, now that we're all here, we'll enjoy ourselves, right? Another day, we'll work out what needs doing. George will be looked after, I'm dead sure of that one. It's what we're all best at and all. Right now, I'm buying in the next round even though it's really on George. She likes a good party and that is what she would want us to do tonight"  
The tone in Yvonne's voice was her big hearted toughness at its best, as she took charge of the situation. The others colluded with her by pretending to forget the sad news awhile. They knew each other well enough to realize that tomorrow was another day and would be dealt with. 


	133. Chapter 133

Part One Hundred and Thirty-Three

"I can look after myself, John," grumbled Joe testily." I've slept on it and I've decided that I'm visiting George in hospital today"  
"You're sure, Joe?" John queried which irritated Joe especially as he had the worst hangover that he had ever had for years. "She is my daughter, after all. I must go"  
John glanced quizzickly at the determined tone in his voice. This was the obstinate, stubborn behaviour of a generation, which had withstood Hitler's massed armies, and was later hard to live with for the rebellious, up and coming generation. Of course, George had acted in her perverse fashion by inheriting this quality, and sneakily customizing it to her own needs.

"I wasn't myself last night. Forget all that emotional drivel I came out with. There's nothing that a strong cup of coffee can't sort out early in the morning. I must admit that I dislike this damned American habit of eternal coffee but it does have its uses from time to time"  
Long experience had taught John to know better than to persist in disagreeing. Last night, the older man had gone on a spectacular bender, and he was clearly suffering the consequences. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and gave way.

When the purr of John's engine had faded away, Joe took a good look at himself in his mirror. He had verbally reassured John more heartily than he inwardly believed and felt pretty rough. He splashed water over his face to revive himself, and smartened himself up as his way of facing up to his fears. It was when he was looking for some prop, external or internal, that the brainwave crossed his mind to distract himself. It was only the matter of moments, to fish out the car keys and seat himself in his highly polished, ornamental but rarely driven Rolls. His long experience emboldened him to set it into motion with a shaky but still active sense for the feel of the controls. It gave him pride in himself, as he was seated so high up when compared with the streamlined, low slung, bullet shaped vehicles. Hmmh, he snorted to himself, they were cheap imitations and a direct corruption of the original idea of the freedom of the road. They bore as much resemblance to his car as a damned soap opera did to a Shakespearean tragedy. They had no class, no sense of style. The keen winter air that found its way into the driving compartment started to clear his head, and cheered him up as he poked the accelerator and shot past the nose of some modern machinery with a commendably executed swerve.

Ancient driving instincts took him to the outside of the Hadlington hospital, which he had not visited for a long time. He pulled his car into the side and peered at the new fangled turnstile and, grumbling at the gadgetry, put a coin in the slot, and selected a parking space at a distance from all other cars. It spread over into two spaces and the distinctive silver bonnet stuck out beyond the white painted designated parking area. He carefully locked up each door of his pride and joy with a faint mischievous expression on his face. Then, looking nervously around in case some wretched hound dared to scratch his car, he bustled himself over to the foyer according to the directions that John had given him.

"Ms Channing? Who shall I say is calling?" asked the nurse in the breathtaking surroundings of the grand foyer. "Her father," rumbled Joe in tones of immense pride.  
The nurse blinked and took another look at the distinguished looking old man, sensing his lifetime's experience of masterful dominance. He was clearly different from the usual patient of a similar age, accustomed to passively accepting his limbo state as a prelude to passing away peacefully. Even though that damned headache hurt him, he graciously let the pretty nurse lead the way throughout the spacious luxury of a private hospital.

Joe turned into George's room with assumed confidence and a wide smile, though her face was tinged with fear when she saw him. Daddy had come to visit her as she somehow expected he would. Her sharp eye detected that despite his bluff, hearty manner, the redness round his eyes suggested that he had been drinking the night before.  
"Daddy, how good of you to call"  
"Well, seeing that you aren't able to visit me at my house, I thought I'd better visit you here"  
Joe's sharp eyes detected that flash of guilt on George's face that someone like Houghton would never notice in a thousand years.  
"I meant to phone you or call on you before but I never got round to it"  
"John explained everything when he called round last night." Joe answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. The sharp glance from her father told George that she wasn't forced to repeat what John had told him already though he wasn't stopping her.  
"Can you believe me that I buried my head in the sand and hoped that everything would go away if I did my best to keep quiet about it"  
"Very easily as I've been proud for so long of my beautiful talented daughter"  
Joe put particular intonation on the word 'talented' as he expertly avoided the trap that lay at his feet. George smiled briefly but made no reply.  
"Everyone is afraid of losing their looks as they get older and, believe it or not, there was a time that I had the good looks of Lawrence Olivier in his prime." George looked at him with disbelief as Joe continued. She had not quite erased the belief that parents were born old, which was quite compatible with her own enduring beauty and mother of a grown up daughter. Daddy was different. "What lovely lilies they are." Joe commented.  
"Karen brought them round when she visited me"  
"You see, I'm not the one who cares for you." Joe replied brightly.  
The conversation meandered onwards. Joe took care not to look too closely in the direction of that portion of George, which had been operated on. George could not help noticing his gaze. The conversation became strained, as they both skated round the matter of the operation until the words that had been at the back of Joe's mind came out without thinking.

"What is troubling you, George?" "I'm frightened that John won't be able to love me any more"  
"Nonsense," boomed Joe." John came round to my house last night and, between you and me, we had a few drinks"  
"Just a few, daddy. You know what your doctor keeps telling you." pursued George, in those affectionately nagging tones that virtuous children adopt for their errant parents.  
"Well, more than a few, but we had a good talk, or rather I talked a lot about you but when John wasn't doing his best to reassure me, he let slip that he was a lot more worried about you than he let on. He will love you for who you are, George"  
George smiled faintly as Joe struggled in his awkward fashion to reassure her of John's constancy of will. Daddy meant well and was trying his best but it wasn't enough. She was becoming tired by the concentration in keeping up with conversation and, as visiting time came close to an end, George did her token effort to keep command of the situation.  
"I'll call a nurse to phone up for a taxi, daddy." "Actually, that won't be necessary, George. I drove over here and showed some of those young whippersnappers a thing or two about driving, " Came Joe's answer with a mixture of understated nonchalance and bravado, while a wicked smile spread over her face.  
"But, daddy, you hardly drive these days"  
"Well, today was an exception and for a special occasion." Joe pronounced loftily. "You haven't done anything which you may later regret. I know you," she declared. She spoke almost severely to Joe with that firm tone in her voice which she had developed when she was young and which John would get to recognize and, in turn, would pass on to Charlie as if it were a female gene.  
"Nonsense, it's as easy as riding a bike. Once you get the knack, you never lose it"  
Beneath her severe manner, there was something about him in these mischievous moments, which she ought to reprove, but which she couldn't help but find endearing about him. Beneath his gaze, he knew full well what effect it was having on George and that it raised her spirits.  
Eventually, Joe had to take his leave and fortunately it was still light outside. As George lay back in her comfortable bed with a paperback, she realized that she worried occasionally about her father, that he was getting old. On balance, it was fortunate that there was recklessness about him to defy the odds. It was becoming more pronounced than ever, as he and John had become close after all the years of separation. It kept him young at heart. It crossed her mind that her divorce from John hadn't just split their own relationship. As she and John had become true friends again and sometime lovers, Joe and John had gravitated back to the way they always were without anything being said. She admired and revered daddy but she did worry about him sometimes. 


	134. Chapter 134

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Thirty Four

On the Saturday morning, Tash came to check on George, just to make sure she was indeed ready to go home. "No offence," George said as Tash examined both her wound, from which the chest drain had been removed yesterday, and the records of her blood pressure and other obs. "But I can't wait to get out of this place." "I quite often feel the same," Tash said as she wrote in the file. "And I only work here. Now, we need you to come back on Wednesday morning to have the stitches taken out, which is when we will fit you with a false insert to put in your bra. Then we'll probably want to start the chemotherapy on the Friday of the following week, to give you the weekend to recover." "What will the chemo actually involve?" George asked, not liking the sound of any of this whatsoever. "Well, you'll come here, and be attached to a drip for a few hours, so yet more interminable boredom I'm afraid. The cocktail of drugs that we'll be giving you, may have several possible side effects. You will probably lose your appetite, which in view of your current weight, isn't something that any of us are particularly happy about. It may also make you extremely sick, either whilst you're having the treatment or in the days following it, and virtually every system your body has will be very much out of sync for the duration of the treatment. I'm talking about your menstrual cycle, your digestion, your sex drive, your moods, everything." "Is there really a positive side to having chemo?" George was forced to ask, inwardly quaking at all the changes this treatment might have on her. "Yes," Tash said without any hesitation. "If you don't have chemotherapy, to remove the remaining cancer cells from your body, you will die. If you want me to be brutally honest, I would give you about as long as next Christmas if you didn't have the chemo, and you would be very lucky if you managed to get that far." All the colour had drained from George's face, and Tash put out a hand to reassure her. "But we're not going to let that happen," She told George gently. "You did significantly reduce your chances of long-term survival by not coming forward as soon as you found the lump, but we will do everything within our power to keep you alive for as long as possible." "That was the stupidest thing I've ever done, wasn't it," George said dully, finally voicing what she was sure everyone had been thinking. "If it's any consolation," Tash said as she closed George's folder of records. "I nearly did exactly the same in your position. However, I was lucky, and it was only a benign cyst, but I left it for an entire month before seeking help, and I was hounded into doing that by a very good friend. I remember, I was looking after a patient with breast cancer at the time, and Kirstie kept accusing me of having double standards." "You really can't put a price on good friends, can you," George said with a soft smile, thinking of all that Kay and Karen between them had done for her. "No, you can't," Tash said a little regretfully, thinking of just how long it had been since she'd looked into Kirstie's beautiful face. "Now, the final thing that I must make absolutely clear to you," Tash continued, returning to her former firm professional voice. "Is that you must, and I repeat must, maintain a healthy diet, if you want any chance of coming through the chemotherapy successfully. You are already considerably underweight, though not as yet dangerously so, and you cannot allow it to get any worse. I do appreciate that this may be extremely difficult, as it appears to be your way of coping with particularly stressful areas of your life. Am I right?" "Of course you are," George said a little bitterly. "I will try to eat on a regular basis, but I'm making absolutely no promises." "That's as far as I'm going to get with that one, isn't it," Tash said, sounding a little defeated. "I'm afraid so," George agreed with her, privately relieved that she would at least have John and Jo to help her on this point. 

Having not been permitted to take a shower before the chest drain was removed, George now thankfully scrubbed away all the feeling of having been confined to bed for several days. When Tricia appeared afterwards to re-dress the wound, and to show George what was needed in order for her to do this herself in the coming days, George automatically picked up the bra she had retrieved from her bag, then only to realise that she couldn't wear it. "That'll have to wait until Wednesday," Tricia told her gently, seeing the multitude of emotions that were crossing George's face. "I almost forgot that it no longer has anything to support on one side," George said bitterly, the reality of her situation hitting her with full force. "You'll get used to it," Tricia promised her, handing her the shirt that George had laid out on the bed. "I'll take your word for it," George said dismissively. 

When John came to pick her up at about one o'clock, George was fully dressed and sitting in a chair in her room waiting for him. She had put on a jacket, fastening it to cover both her unsupported breast and the dressing covered space on her left side. As she stood up when he appeared, she automatically crossed her left arm over herself, to hide the obvious lack of flesh on her left side. "Are you ready to go home?" John asked when he saw her. "More than," She replied, clearly wanting to get back to familiar surroundings as soon as possible. "Jo's already there waiting for us," he told her, picking up her bag with his right hand, and tucking her right arm through his left. Tricia was on the phone when they passed the desk, so she simply waved to them, giving George a smile. Both George and John were quiet in the car, neither of them knowing quite what to say. There was still a lot of unanswered questions between them, and John found himself not really knowing how he should treat her. "You can relax, you know," She told him affectionately, laying a hand over his where it rested on the gear stick. "I'm sorry," He said a little sheepishly. "It's not often that I'm stuck for words, is it." "No, darling, it's not," She agreed with him. 

When they arrived back at George's house, Jo let them in. She and John had come over on the Saturday morning, to do any necessary cleaning and to put fresh sheets on George's bed. They wanted her not to have to worry about a thing, and to be able to simply relax. George couldn't suppress her feeling of oddness as she entered her own house, a sense of unreality that she couldn't begin to shake. This must be some terrible nightmare, a frightening dream from which she could not awake. When they'd moved into the hall and the door was closed behind them, shutting out the rest of an unforgiving world, Jo took George into her soft and gentle embrace, her face resting against George's hair. "It's good to have you home," Jo told her, softly kissing her cheek. "It's good to be home," George replied, perhaps a little uncertainly, as she now had none of the hospital procedures to hide behind. As they both simultaneously put an arm out to John, he tentatively moved into their embrace, returning it as his hitherto buried feelings threatened to overwhelm him. They stood there in perfect silence for a time, all three of them taking comfort from being so close to the others, all of them knowing that this was the beginning of the tortuous days to come. 

When they eventually parted, George looked between them with her familiar knowing gaze. "Are you two all right?" She asked suspiciously. "You're both doing your utmost to hide it, but it feels as though you've been fighting." "That didn't take you long," John told her dryly. "You must be getting better." "It's not important," Jo said quietly. "Not now." Thinking that she might just be able to put her finger on the source of their argument, George accepted Jo's reassurances. "You look exhausted," Jo continued, though thinking that utterly washed out was perhaps a more accurate description. "I am," George agreed with her. "All I've done is rest for the past few days, yet all I want to do now is go to sleep." "Then that is precisely what you should do," John said firmly, picking up her bag from the floor and moving towards the stairs. "Would you like a cup of tea?" Jo asked as George made to follow him. "That would be wonderful, darling, thank you," George replied with a tired smile. "Because if there's one thing hospital can't make, it's real tea." When George and John reached her bedroom, George smiled at the vase of beautifully scented white roses on the dressing table. Seeing her smile, John said, "I thought they might cheer you up." "They do," George assured him. "Though I can't help wondering which one of us is paler, me or the roses." "All you need for the time being," John said, laying his hands on her shoulders and scrutinising her face. "Is rest, and nourishment." This last word was uttered as he fixed her with his familiar, implacable frown. "Yes, thank you," She said in slight exasperation. "I did receive quite a similar lecture this very morning." "I'm glad to hear it," John observed with a wry smile. He helped her unpack the few things she'd taken to hospital, but when she hesitated before undressing, John took the initiative. "Would you prefer that I left you to it?" He asked, seeing her uncertainty. "Yes," She said with more than a little relief. "I'm sorry, I just, don't want you to see me, not yet." "It's all right," He assured her, gently touching her cheek. "I'll be downstairs." Once she had the bedroom to herself, George exchanged her clothes for a plain cotton nighty, and slid gratefully under the soft, thick duvet. 

When Jo appeared with a mug of tea, George sat up to take it from her. After taking a grateful swig, she said, "So, come on then, what have you two been arguing about?" sitting down on the edge of the bed, Jo simply said, "He told me about Connie." "Oh," Was all George seemed able to say. She was pretty sure that she knew why John had told Jo about Connie, but that didn't prevent her from wishing he hadn't. "I wish you could have told me," Jo added quietly. "On top of everything else, you shouldn't have had to deal with that on your own." "And I think we both know," George replied carefully. "That at the time, telling you about his dalliance with Connie might just have been catastrophic. You were putting every ounce of willpower you had into fighting for Barbara, and you'd have gone for John's jugular even more than I did." "I don't know how to feel about it," Jo admitted, feeling more than a little ridiculous. "It's stupid," She continued. "Because I know he's done this a thousand times before, and probably will again." "Jo," George interrupted her. "Try not to dwell on it. I punished Connie for it in court, and I made John feel unbearably guilty. The best thing we can both do, is to try and forget about it. As you said downstairs, it isn't important, not in the slightest." 

At around eight that evening, John went upstairs to see if George wanted anything to eat. She had remained asleep all afternoon, and he had to gently wake her even now. "What time is it?" She asked, her bleary eyes staring up at him. When he told her, she yawned in surprise. "I wondered if you might be hungry," John said as he perched on the side of the bed. "No, sorry," She said, her soft hand slipping into his. "Food is the last thing I want to contemplate. I will tomorrow, I promise." "I'll take your word for it," John replied dryly, remembering all the other times that she had broken her promise to eat. Pulling herself into a sitting position with a wince of pain, she leaned thankfully against him as his arms went around her. "Is that what you wanted?" He asked, his chin resting on top of her head. The duvet had slid down around her waist, and John could feel just how different it now was to hold her. There was only one breast nestling against his chest, not two, and he did his best not to draw attention to it. "I'm sorry that I'm consigning you both to the spare room," She said into his shoulder, and he could hear the slight smile in her voice. "I don't think you did that to me during the whole time we were married," He said thoughtfully. "No, I didn't, did I," She replied, memories of her own rising unbidden to the surface. "I think that, no matter how scorching the preceding row, I still wanted my man in my bed." "And do you still?" He asked her perfectly seriously. "Yes, of course I do," She said, looking up into his face. "Just as soon as I feel a bit more like the woman I used to be." When his lips gently descended on hers, she clung to him almost desperately, the fear that he might leave her one day soon, all but overwhelming her. 


	135. Chapter 135

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Thirty Five

George woke early on the Sunday morning, which was almost certainly due to the fact that she had slept so long and soundly the day before. She lay perfectly still, listening to the silence of the sleeping house around her. She was back home, back in her own bed, something that may have seemed a trifle to others, but which was for her a thankful step forward. But when she heard a soft thud, as Mimi left the warmth of John and Jo's bed in the spare room, followed by the dog's usual shake, she couldn't help but smile. But when the little whippet padded across the landing and nosed open George's half-closed bedroom door and began plucking with a paw at the edge of the duvet, George glanced over at the clock to see that it was barely seven o'clock. Putting a hand down, she gently scratched the dog's head. But when Mimi returned to the door and emitted a quiet but insistent whine, George sluggishly pulled herself into a sitting position, stifling a cry of pain as this pulled at her stitches. Emerging from the comforting warmth of the duvet and putting her feet over the side of the bed, she put out her hand to the little dog. "Do you want to go out?" She asked Mimi quietly, words which started the dog's tail wagging in earnest. Wrapping herself in her thickest, most concealing dressing gown, George followed Mimi down the stairs, and after unlocking the back door, she let her out into the garden. "Don't you dare dig up my roses," She warned Mimi as she slipped passed her ankles. After closing the door to keep out the early morning chill, George quietly made herself a cup of tea, not wanting to disturb either occupant of the bed upstairs. Thinking that she really ought to eat something, she selected a banana from the fruit bowl, but only managed half of it before her stomach felt almost too full. 

She stood and watched the little dog out of the kitchen window, though it was barely light. When Mimi came nosing at the back door to be let in, George opened it with a smile, thinking that this little wonder probably kept John well on his toes. Clicking her fingers at the wayward animal, who was heading straight for the most comfortable corner of the sofa, George led the way back upstairs. But as she started the bath running, Mimi leapt up onto the bed, settling into the warm nest of the folded back duvet. As George sank gratefully into the steaming, scented water, she reflected that this was a very simple luxury that hospital just couldn't provide. She lay there, listening to the gently singing birds through the open window, the hot water relaxing her muscles and allowing her thoughts to wander. She occasionally dozed in that fragrant bath, waking an hour or so later to find that the water had cooled. Pulling herself out of the bath, she discovered that the dressing covering her scar was damp around the edges, and definitely needed renewing. After having dried off, she dug out the replacement dressings that Tricia had given her, and sat on the edge of the bed, first peeling away the dampened dressing, then beginning the arduous task of trying to replace it. The angle at which her scar ran, from her breastbone to under her arm, made it very difficult to get the new dressing in the correct position. 

Jo and John had drifted languidly into consciousness, both of them having slept soundly because George was again home with them. Whilst John took a shower in the bathroom next door, Jo lay drifting under the duvet, until George's muffled curse reached her ears. Dragging herself out of bed, she walked across the landing and put her head round the half open door of George's bedroom. "Are you all right?" Jo asked as she moved into the room, seeing that George was having considerable trouble replacing her dressing. "Jo," George replied, almost in fright, turning her body away from Jo's bleary eyed gaze. "Did I wake you?" "No," Jo said with a yawn. "But you sounded as though you were having trouble." "Stupid bloody thing," George said in complete disgust. "My scar is at precisely the wrong angle for me to cover it properly." "Do you want me to do it?" Jo asked, though knowing exactly the kind of reaction she would receive. "Not really," George said carefully, not wanting to totally disregard Jo's kindness. "I just don't want you to see it." "George," Jo said gently, softly rubbing her bare shoulder. "If you really can't do it yourself, it's either me or John. There is absolutely no point in struggling with it, when I can help you." After a long, very tense pause, George said, "All right, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." Smiling slightly, Jo took the clean dressing from George's hand. "You might not want to hear it," She said, gently persuading George to turn back to face her. "But you are exactly the same as John, in that you always have to have the last word." "And you ought to know by now," Quipped back George, trying to ignore the fact that Jo could now see her scar in all its bruised and stitched glory. "That to allow John to have the last word, is the way to make him feel even more powerful and self-righteous than he already does." As Jo carefully fixed the dressing in place, George visibly cringed away from her, screwing her eyes up tight so that she didn't have to see Jo's face. "It doesn't look as bad as you think, you know," Jo told her gently. "What, so it doesn't look odd, ugly and altogether unnatural?" "Admittedly, it will probably look better once the stitches have been removed, and it's had time to calm down," Jo said matter-of-factly. "And yes, it obviously does make you look different. I've never seen anyone with only one breast before, but that doesn't prevent me from still finding you almost unbearably attractive. Under all that fear of the unknown, you're still you, you're still George Channing, the woman who taught me what it meant to fall in love with one of my own sex." George just stared at her, these words from Jo moving her almost to tears. "I don't know quite how it's possible for you to look so tired, after all the sleep you had yesterday," Jo continued, changing the subject to one that was a lot more comfortable for both of them. "But I think you should go back to bed." "Yes," George agreed with her, pulling on the clean nighty that lay on the bed beside her. "Whoever would have thought that simply taking a bath would be quite so exhausting." 

It was the middle of Sunday afternoon when Charlie finally appeared. George had been lazily drifting between sleeping and waking, but had been brought to full alertness by the sound of the doorbell, followed by Mimi's yapping little bark. John was pleased to see Charlie, but he didn't like the slightly narrowed eyes and the determined look on her face that nearly always spelt trouble. "How is Mum?" She asked, not batting an eyelid at Jo's presence, though it did give her some unanswerable questions later on. "Why don't you go up and see her?" John suggested. "I was just about to take her a cup of tea." Waiting for John to make the tea, Charlie stroked Mimi, wanting something to do to break the slightly awkward silence. She wasn't looking forward to seeing her mother, but she knew it was something that had to be done, if only to keep up the sham of appearances that they always had tried to maintain. When John handed her two steaming mugs, Charlie went up the stairs, fervently hoping that her mother was asleep, so that she wouldn't be forced to make polite conversation. 

When Charlie appeared in the doorway, George looked up in surprise. "Charlie," She said. "This is a nice surprise." "I would have come to see you in hospital," Charlie said as she put one of the mugs down on the bedside table. "But I've been busy." Charlie knew this to be the feeblest of all feeble excuses, but George simply accepted it. "So, how are you?" Charlie asked, sitting down in the big armchair in the corner. "Oh, you know," George said with a slight shrug. "It hurts when I so much as move a muscle, and I can't seem to do anything but sleep." "And how's Dad dealing with it?" Charlie asked, wanting to get off the subject of her mother as quickly as possible. "He's worried and slightly terrified just as I am," George told her matter-of-factly. "But whatever happens, he's got Jo to cling to whenever necessary." "It doesn't bother you that she's here?" Charlie asked, her slight hope that it would, clearly showing in her face. "No, not in the slightest," George replied, totally throwing Charlie yet another puzzle to solve. "Much as it may surprise you, Charlie," She continued firmly. "I am well aware of your father's relationship with Jo, just as she is of his relationship with me, and believe it or not, it actually seems to work that way." George was extremely careful not to add that she and Jo were also involved, as that was a conversation she really didn't have the strength for. "Yeah, until you get sick of him again," Charlie couldn't help throwing back. "Let's face it, that's what happened in the beginning, wasn't it. You couldn't handle the idea of Dad loving someone else more than you, so you divorced him." "There was a lot more to it than that, as well you know," George said quietly. "I will never stop loving your father, no matter what he does. Deep down, I don't think I ever did." "Mum, even I know that any man, even one with Dad's capacity for picking up women who can keep him amused, cannot possibly love two women, not really love them." "That is where your relative innocence and total naivety betray you," George said a little coldly. "If you want to know how your father can profess to loving two women at one and the same time, just ask him, I'm sure he'll be pleased to explain it to you." "Oh, don't get me wrong," Said Charlie a little scornfully. "I can see what you get out of it, at least at the moment anyway. Someone to run around after you, someone to take care of you, someone to start replacing that outer self-confidence that you usually wear like an armour." "Don't you dare continue with that particularly pathetic line of unfounded argument," George replied bitterly. "I would give anything, absolutely anything I had in the world, for your father not to be affected by what has happened to me. He is doing everything possible to try and make me feel loved, cared for and infinitely precious to him. He is hurting about this far more than I thought he would, and I wish with all my might that it didn't have to be like that. So don't you ever tell me that I like having your father feeling as bitterly guilty as I know he does." "Guilty?" Charlie asked in angry astonishment. "What has he got to feel guilty about? You're the one who kept this quiet long enough for it to become a matter of life and death. You're the one who thought it was a good idea to let him go off to Warwick, knowing absolutely nothing about what was happening to you. I bet that was why you did it, wasn't it. That was why you left it so long before getting any treatment, so that you could milk as much sympathy as possible out of Dad and Jo and anyone else." "You really have got a lot of growing up still to do," George said as she pulled herself up to lean against the pillows. "Come here," She said, patting the duvet on the side of the bed. When Charlie did so, and was sitting where her mother had gestured, George said, "Take a long, hard look at what I've got left." Charlie was slightly hesitant to follow her mother's request, but eventually her eyes drifted to the front of George's nighty, where she could hardly miss the fact that only one breast was filling the thin cotton covering her. "Not exactly pretty, is it," George continued a little acidly. "So when you are valiantly hoping that your father will finally give up on me, just try and picture how he will feel when he sees how unattractive I will very likely be to him, because when he does, you might just get your wish." "Mum, I..." Charlie began, feeling just a little guilty for her outburst. "Don't try and tell me you're sorry," George told her bitterly. "Because I think after all these years of being referred to as The Ice Maiden, I ought to know better." Charlie stared at her aghast, not having known that her mother knew about that. "You didn't think I was aware of that delightful little accolade, did you," George continued, refusing to let Charlie see just how much she'd hurt her. "Now, why don't you do us both a favour and go? I am tired, and have had quite enough verbal battering for one day." As she turned away from her daughter, sinking back beneath the duvet, Charlie got up from the bed and silently left the room, closing the door behind her. 

When Charlie appeared downstairs, John could see that something had happened. An aura of tension seemed to radiate from her, and John found himself wondering who had come off worst in the latest of George's and Charlie's arguments. "I need to get home," Charlie said without preamble, wanting to escape this house as quickly as possible. "I've got some work to do before tomorrow." Seeing John's swift glance in her direction, Jo took the initiative. "Would you like a lift?" She asked Charlie. "I've got to drop in at home for something, so it wouldn't be out of my way." This wasn't entirely untrue, so it provided the perfect excuse to try and talk to Charlie. "Thanks," Charlie replied with a smile, always having found Jo's company to be very restful compared to George. 

As they drove through the streets towards Charlie's flat in Paddington, Jo finally raised the subject that was flickering all over Charlie's face. "Did you argue with George?" She asked into the silence, as the windscreen wipers fought with the sudden shower of rain. "Is it that obvious?" Charlie replied gloomily. "Just a little," Jo admitted with a slight smile. Charlie was silent for a while, trying to sort out what she wanted to say. "Nearly every time I see Mum, she really manages to wind me up, that's all." Jo's expression showed that she thought this to be a pretty lame answer, so Charlie continued to explain. "It's never been what you might call easy with her," She said quietly. "And especially not when I was little." "Charlie, something you must try to understand," Jo began carefully. "Is that none of us can ever predict how we will feel when we have a child. Even when everything around you, from things you might read to the midwives who are there to help you, are telling you that this is the most wonderful thing in your life, loving your child, and successfully bonding with him or her, is never an easy thing to do. There are times when the last thing you want in the world is to be a mother, because you feel nothing but a total failure for not being able to simply get your child off to sleep." "I didn't ask her to have me just because Dad wanted a baby," Charlie threw back defiantly. "I didn't ask her to push both Dad and me away just because the only person she could really love was herself." Jo inwardly winced at this last statement. "She was always far too wrapped up in her career to care about either of us," Charlie persisted. "No wonder Dad started picking up every bit of skirt he could lay his hands on." "I would like to think that I meant a little more to him than that," Jo said quietly, reminding Charlie that Jo had originally been one of her father's little distractions. "I'm sorry," Charlie said contritely. "Besides, you were never like that. I think Dad loved you from the first moment he met you. That was why Mum finally divorced him, you know," She continued. "Because of you. I suppose she couldn't handle the fact that Dad had finally found someone who was actually capable of loving him back." There was a long, thoughtful silence between them as they sat in the car, caught behind a line of traffic. "When I was younger," Charlie suddenly said, her voice sounding truly wistful. "I used to wish that you'd been my mum." "Charlie, you have a mum," Jo said quietly, though feeling immensely touched at the compliment. "I know," Charlie said regretfully. "And just occasionally, maybe once in a blue moon, she really does act like a mum. Like the first time I got really drunk, she couldn't have been nicer to me." "What happened?" Jo asked with a smile, remembering the occasional times that either Mark or Tom had arrived home very much the worse for wear. "I was sixteen," Charlie explained. "And Dad thought I was going to the cinema with a couple of friends. When it dawned on me that no way could I go home in the state I was, because I would have risked being grounded for at least a fortnight, I ended up on Mum's doorstep instead. It was pretty obvious just how plastered I was, so she phoned Dad and made some excuse for me being there instead of home with him. I swear I've never felt quite so bad as I did that night, but Mum really looked after me. Then, before Dad came to pick me up in the morning, she said that she wouldn't tell Dad this time, but warned me that if I ever turned up on her doorstep like that again, she would tell him. The funny thing was, she was right, and it worked. Then there was the time I got pregnant. Dad was being his usual optimistic, totally unrealistic self, and when I told Mum, she helped me. I just wish she could have been like that all the time, not just on the odd occasions when Dad either wouldn't or couldn't get through to me." "George does love you, Charlie," Jo told her sincerely. "It's not something she can explain either to herself or to anyone else, but in her own way, she cares a great deal for you." "Whenever I'm with her," Charlie said with a shrug. "She makes all the anger come out in me, almost as though I'm a different person." "And that was precisely how I used to react to her too," Jo said with a slight smile. "George used to have the ability to make me angrier than everyone else in the entire world put together, and she knew it, and would take advantage of it at every given opportunity." "So what happened?" Charlie asked, wondering just how Jo had managed to overcome her perfectly natural animosity. "I love your father, and so does she," Jo tried to explain. "This meant that to avoid even more endless years of constant bitterness and recrimination, we had to come to an understanding. John will never entirely commit to one woman, because he simply isn't capable of it, and even two can occasionally stretch his powers of restraint. But in loving John as we do, we have come to understand not only him, but each other." "Does she really love him?" Charlie asked, not quite ready to believe this. "Oh yes," Jo said firmly. "That's why she originally tried to do her absolute best for you, because she knew that a child was the one thing in the world that John wanted above everything else. No matter how difficult she may have found her own feelings concerning you, the fact that a child was John's greatest wish was probably what kept her going." Then, as they drew up in front of Charlie's flat, Jo made one last salient point. "You do still have a mother, Charlie, a mother who will always want to do her best for you, no matter how much you might hurt her by the kind of thing I suspect you said this afternoon. Please don't waste that opportunity to find some common ground with her, because that opportunity may not always exist. Try to make the most of your mother, while you still have her." 


	136. Chapter 136

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Thirty Six

After Jo and Charlie had left, John made his way quietly up the stairs. Jo had taken the task of trying to get through to Charlie after her argument with George, and now he had the far harder job of breaking down George's usually formidable barriers. There had been something in Charlie's face, something that had told him that she knew she was in the wrong, but that she would go a very long way before admitting it. When he entered George's bedroom, her entire form was submerged under the duvet, telling him more than any words that she was hiding, from him or from herself, he wasn't sure. She had moved over to what was usually his side of the bed, lying on her right side facing the middle, with her back to him as he sat down on the edge of the bed. She didn't acknowledge his presence, and he certainly knew better than to try and talk to her right away. Slipping his hand under the duvet, he gently rubbed her back, feeling the shudder that ran through her body as she tried to keep her crying under control. Then, as he realised what it was that she needed most, he removed his shirt, trousers and shoes, and slid under the duvet on the other side of the bed. George was facing him now, and the look of utter desolation in her eyes frightened him. Putting out his arms, he gently held her to him, being careful so as not to aggravate her still tender flesh. This was closer than they'd been since her operation, and John felt that this state of affairs was long overdue. 

She rested her head on his chest as she clung to him, still hiding her grief from him, though he could feel the steady fall of tears on his skin. He occasionally ran his fingers through her hair, thinking that a good, long cry would probably do her good. When he thought that she was beginning to calm down, he said into her hair, "I love you." Instantly, her body stiffened. "Don't," She said, lifting her face to meet his. "Please don't say something that I certainly don't deserve." "Darling, I love you, whether you think you deserve it or not," He replied, her words hurting him deeply. "I just can't help wondering if Charlie was right," George said, feeling as though she could cry forever. "She pointed out that not even you could possibly have it in you to love two women. John, when you first met me, when I was still only twenty, I possibly did have something about me that was worth loving. But now it's as though there's nothing left, nothing but an empty shell of melted down pride." "Stop it," John said almost harshly. "I do not want to hear you refer to yourself like that. Now, I don't have the slightest idea of what Charlie could have said to you, to make you feel as low as you do, but whatever it was really is not important, at least not at this moment. I love you, and I know you love me. If you didn't, you wouldn't have made the stupid, feckless decision you did, to try and get through this entirely alone. Part of me wishes that you didn't love me as much as you do, because then you might not have taken such a dangerous risk with your own life. George, this is so much akin to the months after Charlie was born, that it's almost uncanny. You have yet again put your physical health in serious jeopardy, simply because you couldn't talk to me. You couldn't talk to me about the fact that you didn't love Charlie, and now you couldn't talk to me because you were terrified of losing a breast and not remaining sexually attractive to me. Do you really think so little of me, that you imagine I would abandon you, just because you have lost a breast, and therefore look considerably different to what I am used to seeing in you?" "John, the most terrifying fear I have, is that I might one day lose you for good. If I didn't have you in my life, it really wouldn't be worth living. When we were still married, and I found out about Jo and went away for those few days, I contemplated not coming back, because I knew that I couldn't make you happy anymore. But I did come back, because I realised that no matter how much we'd hurt each other, I needed to still have you somewhere near me, even if that was only in court." "Is that why you became so distant?" John asked quietly. "Yes," She admitted miserably. "Because every time I saw you, every time I saw Charlie, it came home to me just how much I'd hurt both of you. No wonder Charlie started referring to me as The Ice Maiden. It was tearing me to shreds not being able to have your arms around me, not being able to make love to you, and I know that I didn't just cut myself off from you, but from Charlie too. Even now she resents what I did to her, and to you, and the terrible thing is that I really can't blame her for it. Do you remember what you said to me, on the night I found out about Jo?" "I will never forget it," John said darkly, his conversation with Helen nearly two weeks before flashing up in his mind. 

She had told him to talk to George about their marriage, to try and put some of the past to rest. Could he do that now? Could he honestly go into that heavily guarded area of his memories, to drag up the one thing he'd done that made him flinch and want to throw up with revulsion and regret? "You told me," George continued. "That you loved Jo because she had a heart, clearly meaning that I didn't." "And do you have any idea how often I've bitterly regretted those very badly chosen words?" He asked her. "Never in my life before or since, have I ever said anything quite so reprehensible. But I think the part about that which has intermittently haunted me over the years, is the fact that you didn't argue with what I said. You didn't question it, or try to tell me that I was wrong." "Because you were right," George insisted. "With both the way I was towards you and Charlie, and the fact that she still bitterly resents everything I am, you must have been right." "No," He told her, his voice quiet though full of feeling. "The reason that you didn't know how to love Charlie, is because you didn't and still don't know how to even like yourself. That doesn't mean you can't find it in you to love, because no matter how many times I've hurt you, you've somehow managed to love me. When Charlie was born, you hated what you thought you'd become, but you still did your best for Charlie. You did everything for her that a mother can do. You breast fed her, which I know at times you found extremely difficult, and you cared for her just as any other good parent would. That showed me that you did have a heart inside you somewhere, even after you told me how you felt about Charlie. In those last couple of years of our marriage, you became outwardly so abrasive, because I was picking up more and more women and eventually settling on Jo. It went in a vicious circle, because you became angrier the more women I slept with, and I slept with the women because you were cutting yourself emotionally off from me. We still had sex on a fairly frequent basis, because I think we both needed the pretence of being able to keep on making each other happy." 

"John, how do I even begin to make everything up to her?" George asked after a long and thoughtful silence. "I don't think you have anything to atone for," John tried to assure her. "What Charlie needs to learn, is that no one is perfect, and especially not parents. We all make mistakes, and we usually do our best to rectify them. Charlie may find it terribly easy to blame you for what she thinks she missed out on, but that doesn't stop her from coming to you for help, whenever I either can't or won't give it to her. If she truly resented your part in her creation, then she wouldn't do that." "She comes to me very occasionally because she knows I can be useful to her," George said a little morosely. "But I'd rather she did that than not at all." "Which brings the conversation back to us," John said quietly, knowing that they had to pursue this line of enquiry, no matter how painful it might be to do so. 

"Where did you go for those few days?" John asked, this always having been a source of speculation for him. "I went to Paris," She told him. "And haunted all the places we'd been to on our honeymoon. It allowed me to really think about what I wanted, from you and from myself. It was pure torture in one way, but in another, it gave me a feeling of almost blissful contentment. We'd been so happy during the fortnight we'd spent there, and I think it was those memories that kept me from doing something utterly stupid. Being in a place where we'd been so happy together, it cleared my mind enough for me to realise that divorcing you was the only way forward for both of us. I knew that I wasn't a good enough mother for Charlie, and I thought that if you could find her a better one in Jo, then that's how it should be." "I'm so sorry," John said, gently kissing her, and thinking that he had a lifetime's worth of hurt to put right. "So am I," George replied with feeling. "Both for Charlie, and for this," She said, touching the place where her left breast had been. They held each other close, softly kissing and exchanging the occasional words of love and affection. But eventually George's mental and physical exhaustion began to catch up with her. "Go to sleep," John told her when she tried to stifle a yawn. "That's one thing I'm definitely sick of," She said disgustedly. "Being quite so tired." "With what you've got coming over the next few weeks if not months," John said reasonably. "I suggest you get used to it." Cuddling herself even closer to him, she laid her head on his chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart, the most reassuring sound she had ever encountered. 

When George was asleep, John very carefully disentangled himself from her and slipped from the bed, tucking the duvet round her as he left. Swiftly putting his clothes back on, he went downstairs to wait for Jo's return. He needed Jo, he needed to make love to her, to express his love for both of them in joining with Jo's body as nature had always intended. It wasn't all that long before he heard the distinct sound of her car pulling up in the drive, and he went to open the door for her so that she wouldn't wake George with the doorbell. When she moved into the hall and he'd closed the door, she moved into his outstretched arms and as he held her, burying his face in her hair, he knew that for the moment, he was forgiven. "I'm sorry about Connie," he said into her hair, neither of them having raised this subject since he'd told her about it on Tuesday. "You always are," Jo replied a little wistfully. "But perhaps this time, I am actually finding myself wanting to believe you. I wish I could understand what makes you do it, but I don't, and doubt that I ever will. But if George can forgive you, when I know it hurt her far more deeply, it would be uncharitable of me not to forgive you too. Just try not to take my acceptance of your wayward attitude to women too much for granted." "Did you prepare that speech on the way home?" He asked with a slight smile. "No," She said with a smile of her own. "I was trying to work out how you would eventually explain our situation to Charlie, because explain it to her you must do, and one day soon. She's wondering, John, and it won't be long before she arrives at the correct conclusion all by herself. As her father, and the one she turns to for answers, explaining this to her will inevitably fall to you." "Not a conversation I shall look forward to with relish," John replied dryly, though knowing that Jo was probably right. When Jo kissed him, he clung to her tightly, some of his residual torment from the conversation he'd had with George flowing through him with a shudder. "Can we go to bed?" he asked, needing the feeling of normality that making love to Jo would provide. "I don't see why not," Jo replied after a moment's thought, seeing a wild look in John's eyes, the barely restrained emotions that needed to be released. 

As they moved up the stairs, it dawned on both of them that they would need to be extremely quiet if they weren't going to disturb George's rest. The thought of the amount of vocal restraint they would need to find in themselves was almost intoxicating. It was as though they were yet again doing something forbidden, something wrong that they simply could not forego. They continued kissing as they rapidly removed each other's clothes, their occupied mouths barely letting out a sound. Their hands followed their old familiar course once they were under the duvet of the spare bed, though their touching was calculated to achieve the maximum response in the shortest time. Neither of them wanted to prolong the overture to the main central act of their lovemaking, because they both needed that joining, that coming together of bodies and souls that made them one for the duration of the performance. With the emotions that they had both held in check for the last few days, their coupling was frantic and frenzied once they finally came together, their intertwining bodies expressing all that was in their minds. They seemed to forget their need to be quiet, their utter devotion to the furthering of their pleasure being their only concern. 

George had drifted back into wakefulness as they had mounted the stairs, and she had only become more alert as she realised what they were doing. Their stifled gasps and exclamations of pleasure made her own senses tingle with desire. She didn't attempt to touch herself as she listened to the sounds of their loving, because she didn't think herself currently capable of an orgasm, but the moisture which gradually collected between her legs was testament to just how arousing she found the experience. She loved them both, and to hear them loving each other so entirely was a truly wondrous thing. But once she heard their combined cry of ejaculation, her arousal turned immediately to grief as she became aware of John's heart-felt sobs of terror that he might lose her. 

It hadn't surprised Jo when John's sexual release had turned into tears, because she knew this had been coming ever since he'd found out about George's cancer. She held him to her, gently rocking him as she might a child, trying to soothe away his fears, even though she felt most of them herself. "I can't lose her, Jo," He said as his body trembled. "I can't lose either of you." "And we will do everything we can to make sure that we don't lose her," Jo promised him. "The battle isn't over yet, John, in fact it's barely begun. We can fight for her survival by helping her through it, because she is going to need us, both of us to keep going over the next few months." "I just wish there was something tangible I could do," He said, sounding submerged in total despair. 

When he became aware of the other figure slipping under the duvet behind him, he turned over to face her, now lying on his back between them. As her arms went around him to join Jo's, he wrapped an arm around her, never wanting to let her go. "Darling, I'm not going anywhere," She promised him. "Not yet anyway. I'm not going to go down without a fight, I promise you." After a calming silence, Jo ventured a question. "Did we wake you?" She asked, making George smirk, which was something they hadn't seen in her for far too long. "In a manner of speaking," She said, giving Jo a wink. "Oh, please tell me you didn't listen to us..." She stopped, not quite sure how to phrase what they'd been doing. "And would you have passed up such an opportunity?" George teased her. "Perhaps not," Jo admitted with a slight blush. "Of course you wouldn't," John told her with a smile. "It was the most beautiful thing I think I've ever heard in my life," George said with utter seriousness. "And if there's one thing I definitely have to live for, it's what you two give me by being here. You have no idea just how precious that actually is." 


	137. Chapter 137

Part One Hundred and Thirty- Seven

Ever since Connie Beauchamp had arrived at St Mary's trailing that perfumed sense of power in her wake, Will had felt his nose put severely out of joint, and the passing sense of time had not dulled these feelings. "Why does she make a dead set at me?" he had repeatedly asked either himself silently, or alternatively Tom, who he had felt would have been most sympathetic to his point of view.  
"Let's face it, you're her registrar and you know as well as I, that you have to find some way to get along with her. Some might say that the seasoned consultant doesn't exist without the scars on his back from twenty lashes from when he was a registrar." Tom had chuckled back to him with dry humour. "I don't think that's very funny." Will had retorted with stiff-necked displeasure.  
"Isn't it?" Tom had replied vaguely. "You'll have to learn to live with it. Mind you, whatever you might think of her personally, there's no doubting her professional ability. Look at this way, would you rather have a more easygoing but a less competent consultant? You'll look back in five years and you'll forgive Connie her ways from all you'll have learned from her"  
Will's face had remained expressionless while he had been put out by Tom's obvious favouritism. That woman charms everyone except him, he had reflected. Only he knew the truth about her.

He had reflected back to the time when the top surgeons had been taking it in turns to go AWOL to hang around court all day over that wretched trial. All it had meant had been that he and the other registrars had been run off their feet even more than normal, and that he had had more arguments with his wife over the old perennial, of him being an absentee father and missing those school events that came up with bewildering frequency from out of nowhere. They had the knack of landing at the worst possible time. Some of the nurses had been grumbling, and Will, overhearing the gossip, had said nothing but heard everything as always.

Will could remember the day after the trial had finished when Connie had summoned all the staff together. She stood, centre stage, as she spoke with a sweet and appreciative smile on her face, trying to make eye contact with all the staff, as if trying to communicate her feelings to everyone.

"I know that not everyone's here but I personally would like to thank everyone for pulling together unselfishly while Tom, Zubin and I have been away. You might know that we have all given evidence in a major trial over the sad and untimely death of one of our outpatients, the Reverend Mills. I want to thank all of you for covering for our absence and, believe you me, all your efforts will not go unrewarded if it is within my powers."

As she spoke, Connie's violet eyes flitted past Will's stony but impassive stare and passed on to his immense relief. For one second, he had feared that that dangerous power mad woman might expose him publicly for his very secret role in the trial, something that he wanted a discreet veil drawn over as soon as possible. 

"I have something of a confession to make about the trial. This is the one and only occasion that I will confess to a mistake in my judgment about the cause of his death. There may have been gossip about differences of opinion between myself on the one hand and Professor Khan, Mr. Campbell-Gore and Mr. Griffin on the other. After hearing the verdict, there is nothing stopping the four of us from working as one for the benefit of this hospital. With the benefit of this valuable experience, I can safely revert to being the power mad, dominant woman that I am sure you all think that I am."

Will could have sworn that Connie's smile was also meant for him personally. When the crowd dispersed, he had heaved a final sigh of relief and strolled along to his next errand. At least he was in the clear.

Connie seemed to have turned over a new leaf in the weeks that followed the trial and was all sweetness and light to him. She even graciously accepted his stumbling request to have the afternoon off for some kind of children's special school occasion. Accordingly, it came as a bolt out of the blue when Connie casually strolled up to him, smiled sweetly before speaking in the softest tones.

"Know any good barristers, Mr. Curtis"  
"I don't know what you mean"  
"Come come, Will, I think that you and I need to have a little chat about the matter. In my office. Now." Will's feet took him of their own accord, while the ominous clicks of Connie's high heels sounded in his ears as she made a straight line for her office. Once in the seat in front of her spacious desk, Connie's eyes glared at him and she launched straight into the attack without any preliminaries.

"I've been busy recently and I've had bigger fish to fry but I feel that I can devote all the time in the world to you that you deserve"  
Will instinctively that stony self-contained manner of his Army days when he had been hauled up before his C.O. and had been given a good dressing down. He hated himself for reacting that way, as he wasn't supposed to react that way to a woman who had been unaccountably placed in authority over him.  
"Well, since you won't talk, let me refresh your memory. Let me cast your mind back to the events leading back to Barbara Mills' trial when your flapping ears got wind of the fact that I was to be prosecution witness and you couldn't wait to tittle tattle about events at this hospital to that no outsider could have possibly have heard of through the normal channels." "I still don't know what you mean, Connie"  
"Let's get more specific and remind you of to patients that the barrister brought up in court, the Battista operation that I performed on my very first day to save Pat Cowdray's life, and everything about Maggie Thornton right down to the finest detail." "Barristers are clever people or so I'm told. They must have ways of finding things out"  
"In your experience, Mr. Curtis. Somehow I think not"  
In the pause that Connie engineered to perfection, Will was dismayed to see that slight smile curve the corners of her lips even while her eyes stared into his soul. "In that case, how do you account for the details of my sex life which the defence barrister were paraded before court for all to hear. Some grubby hack from the News of the world couldn't have done more of a public hatchet job on me. It took someone with that level of vindictiveness to pull that stroke on me. You had better not come on with your 'holier than thou' routine about the way I lead my life as you will be taking yours into your hands, professional or otherwise." Connie stormed at Will as her suppressed anger boiled over in waves of molten lava.  
"You had better blame her for telling tales in court, not me." Will flashed back at her as he was finally provoked to lash back at her.  
"Oh, the barrister was a she, Will"  
Will felt that sickening jolt as he realized, too late, that that conniving woman had tricked him into making a confession. He didn't know what to say.  
"George Channing was very forthcoming about the way you almost tripped over your words in your haste to blacken my reputation. I heard everything I needed to hear from her"  
"Why should she make all this up"  
"Oh, women talk, Will. You would be surprised what we are able to find out but we don't always say what we know"  
"Why are you bringing this up after all these months, Connie?" "I told you that your efforts would not go unrewarded if it is within my powers. I didn't say how I would reward you. Still everything comes to she who waits." Connie smirked.  
"What do you want from me, Connie"  
At that point, Connie stood up and paced round her room, dressed in her shortest skirt that she could push the boundaries of professional etiquette. She stared down at him as he sat down in her chair.  
"Well, just for now, you could end up back on cadaver practice for a month which is something that I intended but that might be considered unfair. Instead, I am offering you a degree of mercy. Just one little slip in your professional standards and you'll get more than a month as I'll take this squalid episode into account. You had better know that I will be keeping an especially sharp eye on your professional abilities and morals. As you know, there is nothing that goes on at St Mary's that I don't find out about sooner or later. Just for now, I'm giving you an oral warning which I'll note down in your records." "So you mean to dangle me on the edge of professional ruin?" Will shot back, red faced and humiliated.  
"You have to do things my way, Will, or didn't you know that by now. You have no choice about that , not while I'm here. That is all, Will, I don't think that I need detain you anymore." Connie dismissed him coldly. Somehow, Will got himself to his feet, fumbled at the door handle which seemed to conspire with Connie to trap him, and stalked out, red faced and furious. It had not been his day. 


	138. Chapter 138

Part one Hundred and Thirty-Eight

John was deeply engrossed in tracking down an obscure but important legal precedent, which hovered, indistinctly at the edges of his very tenacious memory. It refused to define itself further than it did, remaining frustratingly enigmatic. Neither name nor associated circumstance would take shape in his mind, despite his best efforts. It was unusual as his craft was based partly on his razor sharp memory or, failing that, on that knack for where to start looking. Eventually he muttered under his breath and threw down his pen in exasperation.

As that concentrated effort of will had failed him, some instinct prompted him to move towards the window, and look out on the view outside. He reached towards the calming effect of the wider perspective of the outside world, to give him peace of mind. This trick had sometimes enabled inspiration to creep up on him, and deliver the answer but not this time. Instead, he became aware that, at a more submerged level, his thoughts had been buzzing away at a similar quest to get to the bottom of why there was such tension between Charlie and George. He had to admit that this unresolved quest had affected his intellectual activity, like some form of background electrical interference.

He cursed his weakness in allowing him to break his golden rule of compartmentalizing his private life from his public duties. It troubled him, as if this lapse was the start of a slide into anarchy and disorder and vowed not to repeat this again if he could help it. Very unusually, for a temperate man, he helped himself to a generous measure of whisky to calm himself down. Very well, so be it, he resolved as the whisky stung this throat. He certainly wasn't going to get anywhere fast, if he continued to stew over his problems. It would have to be dealt with methodically, and his concerns laid to rest.

"Coope," John drawled in easy tones. "Can you find out if Charlie has any business in court today? I wish to speak to her."

'I can find out, judge." Coope answered in her concerned tones. One look at him told her loud and clear that he was unselfishly worried about her, and she was only too glad to oblige. She was aware that, no matter how inscrutable he pretended to be to himself, his varying moods were transparent to her practiced eye. After all, that skill went with the territory of being a personal assistant. Coope also knew the various quirks of all the various barristers and judges, and dealt with them with that dexterity of manner that the fictional character of Jeeves would have respected.

Coope moved silently down to the cramped clerks office, overflowing with court files in every direction but somehow, in an order that was easily understandable to those who worked there. She had a quiet word in the right ear and, sure enough, Charlotte Deed was named as the junior barrister in connection with a grievous bodily harm case. She knew that, contrary to her casual manner, she would arrive in plenty of time.

Sure enough, Charlie Deed strode into the foyer with that happy go lucky manner, that even the hard graft and absence of glamour of a junior barrister's life had failed to dent. Her manner was also surprising, considering her previous argument with George. However, Coope adroitly positioned herself so that Charlie was trapped by the meaning expression on Coope's face. Her face fell, with a presentiment of what was to come even before Coope spoke to her.  
"The judge wants to see you in his chambers, Miss Deed." "Do I have to see him now"  
"It's not my place to tell you what to do," lied Coope, in her most majestically understated manner, "but I think you should go up and see him now"  
Charlie swallowed at the mental vision of her father's typically relentless and inquisitive probing for the truth. To avoid him would be only putting off the evil moment.  
"Very well, but he'd better make it quick." Charlie retorted in an audibly false tone of bravado. Wordlessly, Coope followed in behind the younger woman to her father's lair.  
'I'm glad you could spare me the time, Charlie." John smiled with everything but his eyes. "I wanted us to have a chat about what went on yesterday between you and your mother"  
"What about, dad?" Charlie answered, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.  
"Charlie, I know that you and your mother have had a very serious row"  
"So what else is new?" came the flip reply.  
"George's cancer for a start in case you hadn't noticed it." John retorted in that precisely articulated tone of voice. As Charlie made no reply, John pressed home his advantage.  
"That's one big reason why I want to know exactly what the row was about." "I suppose that mum put you up to complaining about me? That's so typically underhanded and devious of her"  
"For your information, Charlie, George has been incredibly and totally loyal to you, because she didn't tell me anything of what you said even when I pressed her on the subject. That's why I'm asking you instead"  
"That'll be the day"  
"I am going to sit here, Charlie, for the rest of the day if necessary, and I will also delay court until I get an answer from you. Now, just what did you say to her that might have made her question her past relationship with you, at a time when this will not serve to help anyone?" "You're always on her side these days, aren't you." "That is something I would have expected to hear from you when you were twelve. It didn't work then, and it won't work now. For your information, Charlie, I'm on the side of justice, your mother's justice, your justice and my justice. To do that, I need information."

A sulky expression settled on Charlie's face and her awkward body language betrayed her realization that John had beaten down her powers of resistance. She took her eyes off John, and padded round his chambers. Instinct prompted him to cut her that small amount of slack, so that she could get to face the truth, herself and him in one fell swoop.  
"All right dad. You win as you always do"  
"Go on." Came the softly spoken reply.  
"If you must know, I accused mum of using the illness so she could get you to run round after her until she got sick of you again"  
"You can't be serious," John exclaimed as he jumped to his feet.  
"Well, it all seemed very convenient, dad"  
"Inconvenient, you mean, Charlie. Lets leave this teenage psychologising alone for the moment. Have you actually seen George's operation scars?" John demanded in ringing tones.  
Charlie's silence and the deep coloration that swept over her face gave John answer enough.  
"So you have seen it"  
"Sort of"  
"Welcome to the grown up world, Charlie. You have always noisily laid claim to certain rights in the way you are treated. The other side of the coin is that you have to take the responsibilities that go with them. You are aware that cancer kills people"  
"Not mum. She's immortal, don't you know"  
There was something in that ice-cold tone of voice that suddenly made John feel incredibly weary. It was not the tone of voice that rejoiced in George's supposed indestructibility, but was unutterably alienated by it. He could not understand how Charlie, who was so warm hearted to him, turned to stone where George was concerned. He had tried an all out frontal attack, and he didn't feel as if he was getting anywhere.

"You know, Charlie, that at some time in your life, you have to make your peace with your mother. I never had the chance with mine." That sudden shift in John from parent to child shook Charlie in her turn. She had looked in John's general direction except straight in the eye. By sheer chance, she had seen the torment in his clear blue eyes and had caught the full emotional force of his words. She was silent for a while before thoughts emerged to frame themselves in words and structures.  
"It's all very well, dad, it isn't as if I grew up in a normal family with a father and mother and two point four children. You know that my childhood was never like that"  
"I know that George and I lived apart for many years. The one thing we did agree on was how best that you should be brought up"  
"Then why didn't mum love me like any other mother?" Charlie's eyes were suddenly wet with unshed tears and John saw in her the child she had been. She had never asked him that question before, but had always dismissed George as the 'Ice Maiden'  
"I've talked to George about her feelings for you. She felt that she wasn't a good enough mother and came to believe that when Jo came into my life, that she would be a better mother than her. Don't forget that in her eyes, Jo took to motherhood like a duck to water and she didn't. The only way she could cope with that and my own misbehaviour was to pretend to distance herself from us"  
"She did a pretty convincing act, dad"  
"Don't you understand that mothers especially are expected to instantly bond with their babies and to be naturally maternal? Just how realistic is that and where do women turn to if they find that it doesn't work that way? In George's case, she had no one she could turn to so she turned on herself." "Why couldn't I grow up in a normal family, dad?" came Charlie's plaintive response to John's uncertain venture into psychology. What's normal, Charlie? Am I normal? I used to think that I was a natural product of the public school system, with all its upright principles deeply engrained in me. I feel that I've stayed where I am, but so many of my brethren and others in the executive have deserted their ideals and become spineless and self-serving. I look around at my friends outside the legal professions like Karen, Nikki, and Helen. I ask myself where they stand in the great scheme of things, and the answer comes back to me that they are as honourable as anyone I have ever known. I know they are right in their outlook but I don't ever ask of them if they're normal"  
"They're just names to me. They don't mean anything"  
"As your college friends were to me. At the end of the day, you can't let yourself get held back by any mistakes that George and I have made. You have to accept the best of what we gave you and work through the rest, and look to the future. Believe me, Charlie, you must understand. All I am asking of you is that you try to understand"  
Charlie shook her head in genuine confusion. A part of her longed to be in agreement with her father even if she was held back. She knew that he was asking more than her understanding, he was asking for her submission. All the same, her loyalty to her old antagonism could not be easily given up, partly because she would have to admit to herself that she might have been wrong all these years. This was a test of just how young and callow she was and how much stiff pride in her held her back. 


	139. Chapter 139

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Thirty Nine

On the Wednesday morning, George overslept, and was therefore still hurrying to get ready when Karen arrived. This was George's day for going back to the hospital to have her stitches out, and to be fitted with a false breast-shaped insert to put in her bra. The thought of this positively disgusted her, but she knew that it had to be done. Both John and Jo were unavoidably needed in court, so George had asked Karen to go with her. George didn't like to admit just how terrified she was of today, because she knew that some time before she went to bed tonight, she must finally look at what she had left. If she didn't do it today, she thought that she probably never would. She also had the sneaking suspicion that Karen would try to persuade her to do this, and George knew that if Karen was prepared to be there to absorb some of the shock, she really ought to take advantage of it. 

"We've got plenty of time," Karen said as she moved into the hall. "So calm down." George had obviously just got out of the bath or shower, as she was wearing nothing but a towel. "I can't get this bloody dressing back in place no matter what I do with it," George said disgustedly as she went back up the stairs. "Do you want me to do it for you?" Karen asked, looking up at her. "Would you?" George replied in slight relief, thinking that if she could cope with Jo seeing how she looked, Karen was a far easier prospect. When they were in her bedroom, George hung the towel over the radiator and turned to face Karen, who immediately picked up the clean dressing from where it lay on the bed, and fixed it into place with the minimum of fuss. "That'll look fine once the stitches have gone," Karen observed as George began putting her clothes on. "I'll take your word for it," George said as she stood in front of the mirror brushing her hair. "You haven't looked at it yet, have you," Karen said, realising that George would put this off as long as possible. "Good god, no," George said with a slight shudder. "I might not have much desire for anyone else to see my body the way it is, but I certainly have no desire to see it myself." "The longer you put it off, the harder it will be," Karen told her. "Yes, yes, I know," George said a little impatiently. "And I am quite well aware that you will do your best to persuade me to do that today." "Admittedly, it was a thought," Karen said carefully. "But I wouldn't try to make you do something that I didn't think you weren't ready for." 

When they arrived at the hospital, Ric led the way into one of the consulting rooms. "Before I remove the stitches," He said, as George took a seat in front of the desk. "How are you feeling?" "Tired," George admitted disgustedly. "All I seem able to do is sleep." "That's probably the best thing you can do at the moment," Ric told her. "You've had major surgery, so rest really is the best cure. What about the pain?" "Pretty much non-existent," She said thankfully. "It was very sore for the first couple of days, but now it's only if I do something to pull at the stitches." "Good," Ric said as he rose from the desk. "Then the next thing to do is to get rid of them." As George lay on the couch and Ric deftly removed the stitches from her scar, Karen watched his fingers at work. This brought back so many memories for her, from the numerous times she'd seen him operate all those years before. "What're you thinking?" George asked, looking over at Karen to see a very wistful expression on her face. "Just remembering all the times I've seen those hands in action," She replied with a smile. "In theatre or out of it?" George asked with a wry little smirk. "Oh, both," Karen replied without a flicker, making Ric feel ever so slightly uncomfortable. "You're making him blush," George teased. "I, never blush," Ric said firmly, tugging free the last of the stitches as Karen laughed. "What we're going to do now," Ric intervened, neatly changing the direction of the conversation. "Is to fit you with an insert for your bra, so that you will at least look relatively normal from the outside. Seeing as Tricia has far more experience with these things than any of us do, I'm going to get her to help you." Putting his head out of the door, Ric called for Tricia who had obviously been waiting for his summons. When she appeared, Ric beckoned to Karen. "Whilst George is otherwise engaged, can I borrow you for a moment?"

When Ric and Karen had gone, Tricia gave George a smile. "So, you've got this far then?" "So it would seem," George replied, some of her former bravado departing in the face of what Tricia had in her hand. "Did you bring a bra with you?" Tricia asked, and George retrieved it from her handbag. "If you put it on as normal," Tricia explained. "I'll show you how this fits inside it." What she held up was something made of a soft, sponge-like texture, in an approximate size and shape of one of George's breasts. "I don't know what fills me with more revulsion," George said as she turned from Tricia to slip into her bra. "That, thing, or the thought of what my scar probably looks like." "You'll get used to it," Tricia promised her, though knowing that it was probably going to be an uphill struggle as it had been for her. "Will I?" George asked her, turning to face her. "Because right now I really don't believe you." "You will get used to it," Tricia said quietly. "Because at the moment, you really don't have any choice. You haven't looked at yourself in a mirror yet, have you?" "No, and I get the feeling that this is what everyone wants me to do, yet it's the one thing I want to avoid at all costs." "You should do it," Tricia told her. "Because it honestly doesn't look half as bad as you think it does." "I will," George said to placate her. "Just not here." "Do it only when you're somewhere and with someone that you feel comfortable with. Now, try to fit this in your bra, where your left breast used to be. You'll probably feel a bit lopsided at first, but that'll go with time." The foreign object felt alien against George's skin, and she couldn't imagine how she would ever get used to feeling it there instead of her own living flesh. After finding the most comfortable position for it so that it didn't rub too much against her scar, she fastened her blouse over her chest and asked, "How does it look?" "Fine," Tricia assured her. "You really wouldn't know to look at you, well, unless you actually did know." "So I'll still be able to seduce all the judges onto my way of thinking in court, you mean?" "I don't see why not," Tricia said with a smile. 

As Ric and Karen waited for George to emerge, Ric said, "I need to ask you to do something for me." "Go on," Karen invited, again getting the feeling that they'd been here so many times before, his wanting help with a patient and she giving it without a second thought. "George is obviously trying to put a brave face on things," he began. "But I'm not sure how long that's going to last." "Especially when you take into account that she hasn't yet seen what you left her with," Karen filled in. "I need you to persuade her to do that as soon as possible," he said seriously. "I've done my best to warn her, but it's still going to be an enormous shock to see herself looking so different. Please, would you try to be there when she does take that leap?" "Of course," Karen replied, her professional mask only half-slipping back into place. "Ric, I'm going to be with her, every step of the way, if she'll let me." "You still love her, don't you," He said, seeing the utter determination in Karen's eyes to get George through whatever battles she had to surmount. "Yes, and far too much for my own good," Karen acknowledged with a rueful smile. Then, seeming to collect herself, she said, "Would you consider having dinner with me this weekend? I think it's about time we did some catching up." "Yes," he said, a delighted smile crossing his face. "Though I suspect you have far more to tell me than I have to tell you." "I wouldn't be too eager to hear most of it," Karen said seriously, wondering just how much she should tell him about what had happened to her in the years since she'd left his ward and his bed. 

When Karen and George returned to George's house, they both knew that the moment had come, to shatter all of George's hopes that she might still look even slightly beautiful. "Please will you stay with me, while I do this?" George asked hesitantly. "Yes, if you want me to," Karen assured her. But seeing the level of sheer terror in George's face, she said, "You don't have to do this now, not if you're not ready for it." "I've got to do it some time, darling," George said matter-of-factly. "So it may as well be now." Putting out her arms, Karen drew George against her, holding her close just for a moment, to try and give her the strength to follow through with her intention. "Come on," George said, gently detaching herself from Karen's comforting embrace. "Let's get it over and done with." As Karen followed her up the stairs, she wondered what reaction George was about to have to seeing what she now looked like. It could be absolutely anything from tears to anger, and Karen had to be prepared to deal with whatever happened. 

Once in her bedroom, George drew the stool out from the dressing table and placed it in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. As she removed her blouse and bra, she kept her gaze fixed steadily on the wall above the bed, refusing to even glance at the mirror until she was ready. "You might want to put that back on, just over your shoulders," Karen advised her. "That way, if you want to cover up in a hurry, you can do." Shrugging back into her blouse after removing her bra, George held the two halves together as she moved to sit on the stool in front of the mirror. "Do you have any idea how terrified I am?" George asked, as Karen took a seat on the end of the bed, close enough to offer support, but far enough away to give her space. "Tell me," Karen invited noncommittally. "So much rides on this," George tried to explain. "I know it sounds stupid, and I know that you think John will be the perfect gentlemen, in that how I look won't affect him in the slightest, but I can't think like that. I wish I could, but I can't. I can't help thinking that if I loathe, hate and despise the way I look, John will to some degree too. He might say that he loves me, but it's almost to reassure himself as much as it is me." "Would you prefer not to know?" Karen asked, knowing that if George replied in the affirmative, Karen would have to try to persuade her otherwise. "No," George said firmly. "I might want to immediately recoil from what I see, but I do need to see it." 

As George gently parted the two halves of her blouse, Karen found herself holding her breath. She personally thought that there was nothing wrong with George's scar, but that said nothing for how George would react to it herself. As she took that inevitable step of looking at what she now had left, George felt a wave of nausea sweeping over her. On one side, there was a small, firm, almost perfect breast, the breast she was used to seeing. But on the other side, there was no breast. There was merely a scar, a scar that ran from her breastbone to under her arm, diagonally across a flat expanse of skin, that was as flat as the day she was born. There was no nipple, no darker-skinned areola, no ripe heaviness of flesh that John had loved to fondle, and that had once provided Charlie with her only nourishment. No! George's mind shouted at her, no, this couldn't possibly be her body, not the body she'd once been so proud to inhabit. As the colour drained from her face, she rose hurriedly from the stool, frantically trying to do up the buttons, to hide away from how ugly that empty space appeared to her. As Karen put out a hand to her, George rushed passed her and towards the bathroom, finally losing the meagre contents of her stomach as her body strove to expel this vile ugliness that was now part of her. 

When George emerged, having splashed her face with water and cleaned her teeth, Karen took her hand, and pulled her to sit down on the edge of the bed. "Are you all right?" Karen asked in concern, taking in the distinct lack of colour in George's cheeks. "No, not really," George said a little shakily. Putting out her arms, Karen tried to offer the only comfort she really knew how to give, but George put up a hand to stop her. "Darling, it's really very sweet of you to be here, but I think I need to do this on my own." "And I can't agree that you should be alone," Karen told her honestly, not entirely trusting George not to do something thoroughly stupid. "I know you don't," George replied with a slight smile. "But in this instance, I know that it's the right thing to do, for me. I need to take my own time to get used to this, not something that I think is going to be very pretty. Before you ask, I will be saying exactly the same to Jo and John, because just at the moment, I think I could handle their company far less than I can yours." "I don't want you to have to go through this alone," Karen said, a few tears rising to her eyes. "I know," George said quietly, gently touching her cheek. "But it's something I honestly have to do." "All right," Karen agreed with a heavy heart. "Just promise to call me if you change your mind. Either me, or John or Jo, any one of us would be here like a shot." 


	140. Chapter 140

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Forty

George had spent all day on her own, and she knew that this had definitely been the right thing to do. She had needed that time to get used to the sight of what she had left. Once Karen had gone, George had looked in the mirror until she could just about stand to see herself without throwing up. It had taken a while, but she had finally forced herself to come to terms with the fact that she now only had one breast. She hadn't cried, the shock and subsequent mental battle having temporarily robbed her of all the usual emotions. She didn't seem able to cry, such a normal reaction not feeling quite right for this totally abnormal situation. But now, in the middle of the evening, she was lying on the couch, listening to the haunting tones of Tori Amos, and drinking Martini. She wished so badly that she could cry, because in shedding the tears that were clogging her throat, she might be able to release some of the anguish she felt. She kept seeing her flat expanse of chest behind her eyes, the waste of space and the ugliness of the scar barely allowing her room to think. 

Karen had been worried about George all day. She hadn't wanted to leave her on her own, but George had insisted, making it very difficult for Karen to do anything else. But by the time she returned home at the end of the working day, she felt that a call to John was probably in order. "It's Karen," she said when he answered the phone. "I thought I might be hearing from you," John said as he returned to his chair. "Did George give you the same speech as she gave me?" Karen asked, thinking that she almost certainly had. "She did ask both Jo and myself to leave her alone for tonight. She said that time on her own was what she needed. How did it go at the hospital?" "Oh, the hospital was fine," Karen informed him. "Ric took the stitches out, and they fitted her with a false insert for her bra." "And when you returned home?" John asked, sensing that this was the main source of George's hiding from even him. "That, wasn't so good," Karen told him quietly. "She insisted on looking at herself in the mirror." "Why now?" John demanded sadly. "Why today?" "It was something she needed to do, John," Karen tried to tell him. "If she'd left it much longer, it would have been even more difficult than it already was." John was silent, trying to sort out his own feelings about what he should do. He partly agreed with Karen in that George probably shouldn't be left on her own, but he also thought that only George could decide what was best for her at the moment. "What do you think I should do?" He eventually asked, needing Karen's advice more than he ever had done before. "If you want my honest opinion," Karen said carefully. "I think you should go and see her, now, because I'm really not happy about her being left to her own devices. Neither myself nor Jo would really get to the heart of the matter, because it's the thought of you and your reaction that frightens her most." "Then that's what I'll do," John said decisively. "If my reassurance is what she needs, then that is precisely what she will get." 

When John arrived a little after nine, George's house was in total darkness. He knew that she was definitely in, because her car was still in the drive. Letting himself in and quietly shutting the front door behind him, he walked through the downstairs rooms looking for her. He could tell by the full ashtray and empty glass on the coffee table in the lounge that she had probably been drinking. As the cold chill of suspicion swept over him, he moved quietly up the stairs, hoping against hope that she hadn't taken the opportunity to do something stupid. That was the euphemism, wasn't it, doing something stupid or something silly, when in actual fact, doing something terrible would be far more appropriate. As he reached the slightly open door of her bedroom, the sound of her grief reached his ears, making him partly relieved and partly saddened. He was relieved that she was quite obviously still alive, but deeply saddened to hear such heartrending sobs coming from the woman he loved. 

She was submerged under the duvet, lying on what he used to think of as his side of the bed, clutching a pillow to her and crying all the tears that had been kept at bay for the last few hours. She wasn't trying to restrict the sounds she made, because she didn't think there was anyone to hear her. It almost brought tears to John's own eyes to hear the sobs that were wracking her whole body, causing it to tremble and shake with the grief that was swamping her. Moving round to where she lay, John gently detached her from the pillow she was clutching, and turned her to face him. She said nothing as he drew her up into a sitting position and held her against him, because she was barely capable of forming a coherent sentence in her current state. Her arms went around him, clinging to him as a marooned sailor would cling to a piece of driftwood, anything that would prevent her from drowning entirely. Her body shook as he gently rocked her, murmuring soft words of comfort to try and calm her down. But she didn't at first seem able to stem the flood, her terror and anguish having been suppressed for far too long. Only a fair-sized amount of Martini had been able to give her the release she needed, not something she was particularly proud of, especially considering the problems Jo had been having of late. But once she had started, she didn't seem able to stop, the tears coming thick and fast until she could barely control her own breathing, never mind her emotions. 

"What are you doing here?" She said, eventually trying to get herself under control. "I decided that disregarding your wish to be left alone, was perhaps a sensible idea," He told her, gently brushing her hair back from her face. "I didn't want you to see that," She said, reaching for a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table. "George, that's what I'm here for," He told her earnestly. "I want to help you through this, in any way I can." "I looked at my scar today," She said after blowing her nose. "And?" He asked, wondering how she would describe her reaction to seeing it. "It's, it's so ugly," She said in utter despair. "It's utterly repulsive, and makes me feel so old, and completely over the hill." "None of us are getting any younger," John tried to placate her. "I don't care!" She replied vehemently. "I used to look pretty sexy on a good day. Admittedly, nowhere near the calibre of Connie Beauchamp, just to pick a name totally at random. But now, I just look, well, awful doesn't really describe it." Holding her against him again, and gently rubbing her back, he asked, "Will you let me see it?" "No!" She said in horrified response, pulling out of his embrace and hiding all but her face back under the duvet. "Is it really such a terrifying thought?" John asked, hoping that her extreme reaction would fade with time and persuasion. "Yes," She insisted vehemently. "Allowing you to see how ugly I look is the last thing I want to contemplate." "Okay," He said quietly, trying to calm her down. There was a slightly tense silence between them, until George voiced her most immediate concern. "Please will you stay with me?" "Of course," He said, glad to be able to actually do something she wanted of him. 

After removing his clothes and cleaning his teeth, he slipped beneath the duvet on her right, assuming that it was far more comfortable for her to lie on her right side than her left. She moved into his embrace without a second thought, and when he kissed her, he could taste the Martini she'd been drinking this evening. Her need for him surprised him, as he had assumed that she would need him to be gentle with her, but her kisses became steadily more passionate, though he could feel a slight sense of restraint hovering just below the surface. "John," She said a little hesitantly. "I know you might not want to, but please would you make love to me?" "George," he said affectionately. "When have you ever known me to say no at the thought of making love to you?" "I know," She said with a nervous laugh. "I think my self-confidence is right at rock bottom tonight, that's all." "George, if you want me to make love to you, if you're really sure that's what you want, then nothing would give me more pleasure." "You might not say that if you could see me," She couldn't help saying. "If it is at all possible," He said very carefully. "I want you to forget about how you look, because right now, it is not what is uppermost in my mind." "All right," She said after a moment's thought. "But don't even think of going anywhere near my breasts, breast. I think I want to forget that part of me even exists." "I promise I won't," He assured her beginning to kiss her again, and wanting to make her forget her current situation, if only for one night. 

As his hand crept under her cotton nightie, one of her hands dropped to his semi-erect penis, deftly coaxing it to full arousal. Her wondrously lubricated flesh confirmed her hunger for him, and it took him very little time to bring her to a pleading, gasping need to have him inside her. Pushing her nightie up around her waist, he moved over her, careful not to aggravate any lingering tenderness in her scar. "Forget being gentle," She said as he entered her slickly supple depths. "I need all the passion you have to give." Taking her word for it, he met her thrusts with his own, their combined need for each other surging higher and higher, taking them to the skies and back before they crashed back down to earth with an enormous emotional as well as a sexual release. There might not have been much preliminary touching as was usual between them, but that made their loving no less special, with their combined climax showing their love to be as strong as it had ever been. 

As they lay afterwards, drowsily drifting between sleeping and waking, George had a sudden thought that caused a cold feeling of fear to course through her entire body. "What?" John asked sluggishly, feeling her stiffen in his arms. "I've just remembered," She said in horror. "I'm not on the pill any more. Zubin took me off it before the operation." "Ah," John replied, understanding her fear. "Don't worry," he said, trying to reassure her. "I'll get you the morning after pill tomorrow. It's not a problem," He told her firmly, trying to assuage her concern. "All right," She said, settling down again. "But we'll have to do things a little differently for the time being." "I'm sure that can be managed," he teased her affectionately. "With a little imagination." "You want to let my imagination loose on your body?" George quipped with a predatory smirk. "Sounds positively dangerous to me." "You're not the only one who can come up with something new," he replied, kissing her lingeringly, his brain already going into overdrive. 

For the first time since George had returned home from hospital, they both slept relatively soundly, cuddled closer than they had been for far too long. But when John awoke the next morning, feeling thoroughly rested and refreshed, George was no longer with him. As his senses rose to meet the new day, he became aware of the sound of the shower running in the en suite bathroom. Well, at least she wasn't far away from him, something he desperately didn't want at the moment. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to skip court and spend the whole day with her, but he knew he couldn't. The public was as usual demanding justice, and it was his role to ensure they received it, with whatever results the jury might choose to throw back at him. As he yawned and stretched, the noise of the shower ceased, and not long after, George returned to the bedroom wearing a clean nightie, showing that she intended returning to bed for a while. "Are you all right?" He said, as she brushed her hair. "Fine," She said as she returned to bed. "Oh, and there's no need for the morning after pill. I think my body wants me to have a baby even less than I do." "Ah," He said, understanding her euphemism. When he put his arms round her, she snuggled up to him, her fiercely cramping abdomen causing her to wince. Putting his hand down, John encountered the rigid muscle of her knotted belly, and he tenderly tried to massage away some of the pain. "That is definitely one of the things I missed about you during all those years that we weren't together," George said as she felt his hand on her. "Oh, I'm glad that I'm useful for something," he replied mockingly. "But unlike you, I have to leave this bed and get ready for court." "Well, I can't stay here too long," She said regretfully. "Karen's coming to see me this morning, and I sense an idea up her sleeve that I'm not necessarily going to agree with." "That always was your prerogative," he said affectionately. "To disagree with anything that those who love you might think is a good idea." "Of course, darling," She said, kissing him lingeringly, and knowing just how lucky she was to have John, Jo and Karen taking care of her interests, even though she wasn't always in the mood to agree with them. 


	141. Chapter 141

Part One Hundred and Forty-One 

Karen presented herself on George's doorstep, fully prepared for some tricky negotiation. This all depended on how George was feeling. Karen had calculated that as George had been out of hospital and off work for five days, she should be just starting to feel less tired and listless, and the boredom factor ought to be kicking in.

George opened the door to Karen and welcomed her in. The living room was strewn with assorted newspapers and a couple of discarded court files.  
"In case you didn't know, darling, you've no idea how incredibly boring daytime television is." Came George's contemptuous reply. "Such inane, prattling overpaid nonentities ought to be arrested for degrading the nation's intelligence"  
Karen was enormously relieved to hear George's tetchy tones. At least this meant that George was starting to come out fighting. The George of yesterday seemed helplessly defeated by life, which had shocked Karen badly. Even if she had been on the receiving end of George's mood, it would not have fazed Karen in the slightest.  
"So that's what I pay my TV licence for," smiled Karen, as George reached tentatively for the remote control. The resident local network smoothie's face promptly disappeared into the void.  
"Well, when you and John aren't around, there's not been much else I can do." Grumbled George. She was starting to wish with all her heart that she could return to the cut and thrust of court work, and the intense concentration of a new case which would absorb that unused brain capacity.  
"Well, thereby hangs a story, George. I was wondering if it was too early to suggest what I had in mind and if you don't fancy it, I quite understand"  
If there was one thing in life that George hated, it was an idea that was gradually doled out in small doses as an attempt to be tactful, carefully leaving the most important bit till the end. Her natural curiosity craved immediate gratification at the best of times and right now she was in the grip of an insatiable desire to hear the news immediately, if not five minutes previously.  
"Spit it out, Karen. Don't think you are sparing my feelings by holding back on me. After all that has happened, I think I can cope with one of your surprises"  
"All right, George. I think it might help you to talk to the one person you know that has something in common with you and that's Julie Saunders. She's been through exactly the same experiences you have and it might help you to feel less isolated, even from me, John and Jo"  
The look on George's face was deeply unpromising as the light went out of her face. She frowned as she contemplated the idea. It felt as welcome as an invitation to a meeting of Anorexics Anonymous and conveyed some frightful idea of loudly confessing her emotional traumas. George's attitude was, no thank you very much, I'd sooner plod along on my own.  
"You've met Julie before and I couldn't think of a kinder hearted woman. We all mean well but at the end of the day, we can only sympathise so far as we're not in your shoes"  
"I suppose you're going to give me the benefit of your years of nursing, Karen." George retorted in acid tones.  
"Exactly, George. I've seen this before in one shape or another. Believe you me, it helps. Just trust me"  
Karen's swift rejoinder took George aback as the idea was thrown back in her face.  
"Are you serious in what you're saying?" " I don't want to come over as some kind of well meaning do-gooder who ends up making things worse than before. I've sounded out Julie and she's only too happy to help out. She's good at that sort of thing, she really is and she's had years of practice. The advantage she has over me is that she has gone through exactly the same reactions as you have. That has to make a difference." Karen's fluent persuasive tones began to sooth and wear down that automatic blind panic that had risen up in George at the very mention of the idea. She remembered what Julie was like, and started to listen to the reality of the situation, not her fears about the situation.  
"I suppose there might be something in what you say but I need time to think it over"  
Karen's outward expression was composed but, inwardly, she was jumping for joy. She knew that she was taking a risk in broaching the matter and she knew how mulish George could be if the mood struck her. She was almost there, she thought, as George paced round the room in contemplation. When she came to face Karen again, the other woman added nonchalantly as if the words had no consequence for her.  
"It can't be all bad. For a start, you'll escape all the horrors of daytime TV"  
George pulled a face at the elaborately casual manner with which Karen delivered her line.  
"I don't know which of the two of you are more devious and cunning, you or John. Very well, you stay right there while I get myself ready. If you are really at a loose end, you can do penance and watch Trisha. She's on very soon now"  
Karen shrugged her shoulders and meekly obeyed George's steely glance, evil smile and determined tone. The other woman clicked the remote control and those dreadful adverts for extremely dodgy, extortionate home loans yelled discordantly at her. Karen sighed as it immediately grated on her nerves. It was totally mean of George but at least it showed that she was recovering her spirits and becoming a fighter again.

"Nikki, I'll be over at Larkhall with George as soon as. Make sure you've got Julie Saunders ready whenever I let you know. They'll be using my office"  
Nikki's spirits lifted enormously at the sound of Karen's crisp, confident voice though she had to put her hand over the other ear due to some dreadful garbage daytime TV in the background, the sort of rubbish she used to flick on in bored moments in her club days. Wryly she smiled to herself that life in the prison services had its advantages.

As Karen drove George towards the gates of Larkhall prison, George's spirits lifted a fraction as she saw the outside world through the windows of Karen's green convertible. Driving along with Karen gave her a faint nostalgic warm feeling for the past, while respecting its place in their history. 

George was surprised to find how she automatically positioned herself, as she passed through the bolts and bars with increasing familiarity for the place. She held herself upright, dressed immaculately and took comfort from the thought that appearance was everything today. She looked her normal self even if she still felt totally artificial. "You're getting to be a regular here, George." Gina greeted her warmly as they crossed the wing,"I'll nip off and find Julie"  
Gina's unselfconscious words and her warm smile lifted George's spirits at once. She was starting to feel part of the world again. "Hey, posh bitch," called out Denny's voice cheerily with a big grin while Tina smiled freely. She remembered the time that this dead glamorous woman had kept her company that time ages ago when Buki cut herself up. George graciously responded in semi regal fashion as she passed them by.  
"I seem to be popular round here"  
"Prisoners have long memories. They remember you from when you've been here before. They know what you did for Barbara and they won't forget"  
George accepted a cup of tea in the homely comfort of Karen's office and started to relax a little. The only thing that felt strange was that all through her career, she was the one to come to the assistance of others with the benefit and confidence of her accumulated knowledge of the law. She sat back in her chair with no clear feelings what she was going to say as she was with neither her briefcase nor a game plan, only herself.  
"Wonder who she's here for this time? I ain't heard of any of the girls who need a decent brief." Denny commented to Tina who shrugged her shoulders as they queued up for fresh air outside on association.  
"Search me." "Hey, has anyone seen Ju around?" Julie Johnson asked." She was going to come down with me to the servery but Gina told her to see Miss Betts and she went off dead quick. I hope she ain't in trouble"  
"She'll be all right. After all, she ain't done nothing"  
Julie Johnson nodded her head at Denny's plain common sense. She knew how much Julie J got worried about things in general and how to settle her down.

At last, after desultory purposeless chat designed to fill in time, Gina's approaching tread announced the end of the preliminaries. Karen spotted that look of fear pass across George's face as she prepared to face the unknown and that events would be taken out of her own hands. A nervous fidgety Julie Saunders looked all round her. She delicately took a seat when Karen gestured to her and gave the preliminary explanations and introductions. 

"I'll leave you two in private." Murmured Karen as she made a tactful exit, while Julie Saunders looked on open mouthed. In all her time at Larkhall, there had always been at least the Governing Governor present plus a prison officer in this room. Now she was alone, except for a high-class barrister, seeking her help of all people.

"Miss Betts told me what it's all about, something about me telling you what happened to me as you're going through the same as what I had. Course, I'd love to help you out but I just hope I'm up to it"  
Julie Saunders was horrified to see a look of total fear and horror flash across George's face. This was another woman in need of help, never mind the contrasts. George's clothes were dead posh in comparison with her own short cheap skirt and top and her makeup was elaborate in comparison with the traces of powder and lipstick Julie had coaxed out what was laughably described as her make up kit. She had to say something, and fast.  
"Look, Miss," Julie said automatically. "I remember getting in a right old state when I first came under the knife but look at me now. I'm still the same woman as I ever was, where it matters"  
"What does really matter?" George asked in despondent tones.  
"That you have your mates and that they're around for you"  
The simplicity of Julie's words made George sit up and take notice. Julie gained confidence and the words started to flood out of her mouth without her even trying. 

"I'm not saying that it's easy. You get it into your mind that you're some kind of freak. It's not just how much you reckon the fellas will fancy you that you used to have two boobs ever since you grew up, not one. It's also all the punters over the years that have kept my son David at public school. My looks have been what's kept the money coming in, if you see what I mean. I tell you, there ain't any fashion magazines that have pictures of women who look like me. You remember watching the telly and you may have seen programmes on breast cancer but you switched over instead to watch Corrie on the other channel. It's something that happens to other women, never to you. Of course when you're young, you never think that you'll ever get old much less catch something like this"  
Julie Saunders was right, George concluded. That was exactly the way she had been all through her life. This plain speaking down to earth woman had suffered far more of life's knock backs and had come through the other side of one of the worst specifically female nightmares around. "…..and you crawl inside some kind of shelter you try and find for yourself only there isn't one"  
"……..that sounds like me." Added George with a ghost of a smile. "So how did you start to come to terms with it?" George pursued gently. She felt more comfortable if the conversation was shifted away from her. Julie duly obliged. "Like I told Miss Betts, no one can do it for you. You have to work it out in your head for yourself. One thing I got to tell you that you need those around you who can help if you let them. They can't take it away for you but you can't expect that anyway. They mean well. That's all you can ask them to do"  
An uncomfortable silence fell on the room while Julie was temporarily stuck for words and George felt uncomfortable not to be at the directing end of conversations. It was so unlike her previous visits to Larkhall.  
"So how did it all happen"  
"Oh, I was having a shower one day and I looked around and noticed this lump and, silly me, I got into a right panic, never said a thing, made out to everyone that everything was normal. I even pretended to myself that it didn't exist, after all what's in a lump, so I thought. The only problem was that Ju knew there was something up, and I went all round the houses before I had to spit it out to her. Of course I was scared, didn't admit it to myself and, what's worse, I was ashamed to tell anyone. The thing was, the longer I left it, the harder I found it to deal with and so on and so on. I had to deal with it in the end. There ain't much choice"  
There it was for George, the magic formula placed in her hands by this very down to earth woman. This was the Larkhall women's support group she had first seen in action at Lauren's trial. For the first time today, George felt and looked happy.

"I ain't talked a load of rubbish?" Julie asked anxiously. The words had come right off the top of her head as if George were another woman she was having a right old natter to, not the elegant, classy barrister that she had talked to in the past. "You've been more help to me than I ever dreamed you could. I'll even forgive Karen for suggesting this in the first place." The total warmth and gratitude in George's tones both surprised and touched Julie. There was a meeting of minds between the two women from such totally different backgrounds and the silence that fell over them was one of peace and tranquility where no more need be said. 


	142. Chapter 142

Part One Hundred and Forty-Two

There was no mistaking the twinkle in Karen's eye when she invited him out for a meal. In these liberated times, he was quite willing to go with the flow in this respect and to see where the current took him.

Ric carefully knotted his tie and looked at himself in the mirror. He had to admit that he did not look like the younger male model who he remembered looking back at him. It was Karen's turning up in his world that caused him to be in an unusually nostalgic mood. Normally, he was totally immersed in the daily grind of a busy hospital and the incessant demands on his time and his brain. He permitted himself this brief luxury as he went on to contemplate the younger fresh-faced Karen Betts. In his minds eye she was more real than the mature version who spoke with the younger woman's tone of voice. As he looked at himself closer in the mirror, the Ric Griffin of the present came into sharper focus. He was a little more lined, with a few grey flecks in his hair but he could swear that he was hardly wearier of life than he had ever been. The only decisive changes in his situation were his children and ex wives, and that he no longer had a car to drive thanks to the damages of his past financial recklessness. Otherwise, he should hardly be a stranger to Karen where it really mattered. 

The crisp sounds of a sports car sounding down the street predicted that Karen's perfumed presence would be there to spirit Ric away in her green convertible sports car. This was the first tiny intimation that Karen had changed. She was no longer the penniless nurse, who slogged it to work on the number nine bus after dropping Ross off at the crèche. He could tell that what she once had dreamed of both in terms of spare time and money was now hers for the taking. "I know a nice discreet restaurant where we can talk over dinner if that is fine with you unless you have any different plans." Karen announced with that casual assurance that was new to him.  
"You choose. You've obviously got plans for this evening so why should I stand in your way?" Presently, he opened the door of a discreet yet smart restaurant, that looked every bit as good as Karen had indicated. You could tell that from first glance and first feel. It seemed that a thousand subdued low lights blinked at him and the world suddenly felt good to him. This was more real yet more sedate than that more fevered certainty of winning that had once perched him right on top of the world. He felt suddenly refreshed especially as he wasn't on one of those cursed Saturday late night shifts. It was notorious for all the aggressive psychopaths, who piled into the pubs and indulged in what they laughably thought was a 'good night out.' Sure enough, their slashed and battered remnants were wheeled in on a stretcher for the likes of him to patch up. Alternatively, it was some innocent victim who was unlucky to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The sheer pointlessness of it all got him both righteously angry from time to time, and pitied the human race for its follies.  
"What are you thinking, Ric?" Karen's mellow voice asked him from underneath her blond fringe. "Just that my pager's switched off and though I'm dedicated to my job, I'm not married to it"  
Karen laughed gently at Ric's broad, relieved grin as he passed her the wine list to scrutinize.  
"No wedding ring I see, Ric"  
"Make that plural, Karen. I'm not sure if I ever told you that I've been married four times, twice to the same woman and nearly a fifth"  
"I've got to hand it to you, you're a trier. I soon gave up on the idea of walking down the aisle waiting to be 'given away', whatever that means"  
"Since when did you become a cynic, Karen"  
"Realist, Ric." She corrected him. "If you want to know, I think that I gave up on hearts and roses when my marriage to Dennis went on the rocks." "You've changed in some ways, Karen"  
"So what do you see before your eyes"  
"I can see that same calm composure in your eyes just as when you were twenty"  
"People change, Ric. Life changes them…….." Karen started to say until her roving eye alighted on her favourite dry wine and she indicated it as she passed the wine list back to Ric for his approval. The waiter softly padded away to fetch a bottle for both of them to sample. "I'd sooner talk about you. Your life is bound to have been more interesting and probably scandal ridden than mine if I remember right"  
Ric laughed freely. He only had sketchy fragments of Karen to make comparisons but it was true that he looked out for trouble as often as it stalked him. He let Karen adroitly shift the focus of the conversation back onto him. She found it safer, less perilous.  
"Well, I know the safest corners of St Mary's where I can sneak off for a quiet smoke"  
"Nicotine or cannabis?" threw back Karen as she took a sip of the wine offered to her.  
"Oh, I'm always sober on duty. I am a surgeon and not some reckless young registrar"  
"So you smoke dope in the safety of your own home these days." Threw back Karen with that spring-heeled logic. The wide smile in her eyes took her fondly back to the good old days. Ric threw up his hands, confessing his guilt.  
"Well, apart from the time I got into an argument with a pushy policeman and was arrested for possession." "Nothing changes in your life." Came Karen's half scolding, half playful mellow tones as the waiter came back at a pause in the conversation.

The two of them, successful in their professions, had that time to leisurely survey the menu at their leisure and opted for Ardennes pate as a starter. They sipped their wind as they sampled the starters and let the evening drift on leisurely. They were free from the manic fast paced life that they both knew too well that it could amount to. "So how did you come to marry the same woman twice, Ric"  
"We are both strong minded people. It took time for us to realize that we couldn't live together and couldn't live apart from each other either." "And nine children?" Karen bantered.  
"Well, these things happen. I come from a long line of large families."Ric countered.  
The main meal of steak was served with just the right quantity of potatoes and vegetables and French mustard. It was plain food and wholesome. "Well done, Ric?" Karen enquired with eyebrows raised.  
"Well, I see enough blood in my daily routine without wishing any more on me." Ric countered to Karen's faint automatic smile.  
That magical connection between the two of them was not lost as the evening progressed and the background chatter of the other diners at the restaurant faded into a background murmur. Nothing mattered but the attractions of the mature, attractive woman in front of his eyes. The evening progressed to its inevitable conclusion as Karen paid the bill "Do you want to come back for coffee, Ric?" Karen asked with just that hint of measured seductiveness.  
"I thought that you would never ask." Ric responded, lying through his teeth with a debonair flair that John would admire as words spoken from the master book of seduction. 


	143. Chapter 143

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Forty Three

When Karen and Ric entered her flat, his expression was undoubtedly appreciative. "Nice place," He said, his eyes sweeping round the extremely spacious lounge with the doors to the balcony at the far end. "A governing governor's salary isn't bad when there's no one else to spend it on," Karen said philosophically. "Coffee, wine, or scotch?" "Scotch always goes down nicely after a hard day's work," He said, watching her as she moved to the sideboard to pour their drinks. "Consultants didn't believe in working at the weekend in my day," She said as she handed him his drink. "That was before they only allowed us one or possibly two per department." "Oh, you poor thing," Karen mocked him playfully. "It makes a nice change for consultants to actually be getting their hands dirty." "I always did more than my fair share when you were working with me," He insisted, taking an appreciative sip of his Scotch. "Ah, but you were a registrar in those days, not a consultant," Karen pointed out. "And from what I can remember," He said, putting his glass down on the coffee table and then laying his hands on her shoulders. "It is the registrars who even now have all the fun." "I'm sure consultants get the odd added bonus," Karen said silkily, her eyes locking with his. It had been years since they'd looked at each other like this, their combined passion just simmering below the surface, waiting to boil over at the merest suggestion. 

When their lips met, a whole host of memories rose up in both their minds. They could both remember the furtive moments, the stolen kisses and caresses, the mind-blowing orgasms which had all been wrong because he was married. But his matrimonial commitment hadn't prevented their liaison, possibly making it all the more intense because it was so forbidden, their passion having to be snatched at every given opportunity. His arms had gone around her waist, and hers up around his neck, both of them clinging to the other as the last fifteen years simply melted away. But when they eventually came up for air, Karen's head seemed to emerge from the cloud it had obviously been sitting on. "Ric," She said carefully, wondering how on earth she should phrase this. "Before either of us thinks about furthering this..." She waved her hand to encompass their closeness. "There are a lot of things you should probably know. I'm not quite the woman you used to know so well." "Why, you're not going to tell me that you've had a sex change somewhere along the line, are you?" He asked, making her laugh, and immediately lightening the atmosphere. "No, of course not," She said with a smile. "I just think that I ought to be honest with you. Considering the way I left, both you and the job, the least you deserve is knowing some of what's been happening to me all these years, though I'll warn you that most of it isn't nice." "So tell me," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa where he pulled her down beside him. Taking a swig of her Scotch and lighting a cigarette, something else he'd seen her do a thousand times before, she began to tell him her story. 

After taking a long drag of her cigarette, almost to buy her time before she shattered all his allusions about her, she said, "I was raped, nearly four years ago now, by someone who I knew was a total bastard, but who I thought loved me. Jim Fenner, was one of my officers, when I was still a wing governor. I lived with him for a while, even thought I loved him, which proved to be one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made." "Karen, being raped doesn't make you a lesser person," Ric said carefully, trying to mask the shock that her words had given him. Even after all his years in the medical profession, of seeing every kind of violence that one human being could do to another, he would never have expected such a strong, emotionally together woman to have suffered something like this. "No," She said, replying to his earlier statement. "But everything I did in the time leading up to that, does. I was completely under his influence. I wouldn't listen to a word against him, not even when the evidence was stronger than any misguided belief I might have had. I wasn't the only one he assaulted, but I was the only one who could quite easily take some of the blame." "Karen, you can't blame yourself for someone else's actions," Ric tried to tell her. "Oh, believe me, I can try," She said with a mirthless laugh. "But Fenner was only really the start of everything that went wrong. After Fenner... After that night, I picked up the criminally corrupt son of one of my inmates. I needed something normal, to prove I could still enjoy it. That was yet another huge cock up, pun unintended. Ritchie Atkins used me, without my knowledge I might add, to smuggle in a gun to his girlfriend, another of my inmates, who subsequently blew up part of the prison, killing a girl barely older than Jess would have been." "You don't lead a quiet life, do you," Ric said ruefully. 

"Oh, it gets far more interesting, I promise you," Karen replied, getting up to pour them another drink. "Because then came Yvonne Atkins, Ritchie Atkins' mother." "Not the Yvonne Atkins?" Ric asked in astonishment. "Do you know her?" Karen asked in surprise. "Know her? I should say so. She used to own my favourite betting shop." "Typical," Karen said with a smile. "Well, after her release, and during the trial of the woman who'd blown up the prison library, I began a very short, but very sweet affair with Yvonne. She was the first woman I'd ever become involved with." "Why wait so long?" Ric asked with interest. "To become involved with a woman, I mean." "I guess you could say that the right one just hadn't turned up," Karen replied with a smile. "But with Yvonne, well, it didn't last. When Ritchie killed himself at the end of his trial, he left a note for his sister, asking her to get rid of Fenner. Ritchie knew about Fenner, I'm not sure how but he did, and it was his way of trying to make up for using me as a gun smuggler. Lauren killed Fenner, barely six weeks after I'd started seeing Yvonne, something which was used as a mitigating circumstance during her trial. If you ever took the time to read more than the racing pages, you'd have learnt most of this at the time. The press had a field day with the finer details of my sex life." "I've been trying to avoid even the racing pages for the last couple of years," Ric said ruefully. "So I don't go near a newspaper if I can help it." After taking and lighting one of her cigarettes, he asked, "Why did you want me to know all this?" "Because it's part of who I am," She told him honestly. "Too much of it has shaped things that have happened since, including friendships I've made and the odd terrible thing that I've done." 

"Where does the lovely George fit into all this?" Ric asked with a soft smile. "I crossed swords with her at Ritchie's trial. She was defending him, though not by her own choice, but that's another story. When it was my turn to be cross-examined by her, it was as though there was only the two of us in the courtroom. John described it afterwards as a verbal tennis match, and I've never felt quite so exhilarated. But that little encounter was nothing compared to the day after Fenner's body was found in Epping Forest. You see, I was there when Lauren came home from committing that crime, an afternoon I don't think I'll ever forget. As a result of my relationship with Yvonne, John, Jo and George all guessed that I knew far more about Fenner's death than I ought to. Believe me, they put the Spanish inquisition to shame. John knew I hadn't killed Fenner, Jo wasn't sure either way, but George was absolutely certain that I had. If the situation hadn't been quite so serious, I'd have probably got a sexual high from that argument, because it was so fiery, so intense. Anyway, I didn't see her again until Lauren's trial, which was fifteen months later. George just turned up in the public gallery and sat down next to me. She had been planted there by Jo who was defending Lauren, because I was about to learn precisely how Fenner had died, which I can promise you isn't something you want to know, but George told me that she would have been there anyway, because she couldn't pass up the opportunity of seeing me again." "What about the Judge?" Ric asked, thinking that she'd had it rougher than he could have thought possible. "Oh, it certainly was complicated," Karen said with a rueful smile of remembrance. "I was seeing George, who I knew was also sleeping with John, who was also sleeping with Jo. The weird thing is that it really did work." "Sounds even more complicated than me and Lola," Ric said with a laugh. "And then Jo discovered that women could also be her thing. She and George was almost inevitable, with them both having such a close relationship with John. I knew that George was gradually slipping away from me, and in the end I worked out why. But in the middle of all that, Ross chose the easy way out. Well, easy for him anyway. I couldn't possibly have had more support from George, Jo, and everyone around that time, but it didn't help me to really deal with any of it. I threw myself into work, like I always have done in a crisis, and ended up having to talk one of my favourite inmates down from the hospital wing roof, where she was sitting fifty feet off the ground with a razor blade. I was immediately suspended, because I'd gone up there without any thought for my own safety whatsoever. I was furious with my boss at the time, but it eventually occurred to me that he was probably right. So, I borrowed Yvonne's villa in Spain, and stayed out there for three weeks. Part of me didn't want to come back, but that wasn't something I allowed myself to seriously consider. George and I had finally split up by then, and maybe only you would know what being alone is really like." 

There was a thoughtful silence between them after she'd said this, because Ric was forced to agree with her. "Just to fill in the odd piece of the jigsaw," he said eventually. "Have you ever slept with the Judge?" "Twice," She told him after taking a drag of her cigarette. "Why?" "He just strikes me as the type of person you would sleep with," Ric tried to explain. "And do you know why that is?" Karen asked with a smile. "It's because he reminds me of you. Both you and he are one hundred percent dedicated to your profession, and you often break the rules and ignore the politics, so that the people you are trying to help can be given the best of your abilities. You both loathe and despise those who try to run your professional lives, and you will always go that extra mile to achieve either a medical miracle, or plain and simple justice. But when it comes to your private lives, you are both a complete and total disaster. Connie Beauchamp is a magnet for either one of you, and knowing that John certainly couldn't resist her charms, I doubt that you could either." "Apart from my little habit of backing too many horses," Ric said philosophically. "He sounds like a carbon copy." "Oh, he does have an addiction, just not one that involves casinos," Karen told him. "You might be addicted to gambling, but John is addicted to sex, something that can be and certainly has been far more of a problem." "I didn't know that was really possible," Ric said almost in awe. "Sadly, it is," Karen told him regretfully. "It causes those who love him far more heartache than your gambling ever could." 

They talked for another couple of hours, drinking far too much Scotch and both smoking too many cigarettes. "I ought to call a cab," Ric said eventually, thinking that his brain would surely implode with all the information it had received this night. "You could always stay," Karen suggested quietly, realising that Ric's strong embrace was what she really needed. "Not for that," She said at his raised eyebrow. "Maybe I just want to remember how incredible the Griffin cuddle always was, and I must be far too drunk to have actually put that into words." "It would be a pleasure," he told her honestly, the thought of not having to spend the night alone, far too tempting for him as well as for her. 


	144. Chapter 144

Part One Hundred and Forty-Four

Sundays were one of John's favourite days of the week, especially on a sunny March day. It gave him the feeling of a new year approaching, new promises opening up to him after the grim slog through winter's life. Certainly, there were no rational grounds for these feelings, when he came to reflect on the central core of the problem. This puzzle was how to be strong enough and wise enough with words, in being supportive of George in the weeks to come. Nevertheless, his body told him that he felt unaccountably optimistic.

He jumped when his mobile sounded in his thoughts and he clicked off the CD player. He was more nervous of sudden phone calls from out of the blue ever since Jo dropped the bombshell on him about George.  
"Dad, it's Charlie here." Sounded the fresh-faced voice in his ear to his measured surprise and pleasure. Charlie was less the sort of daughter to make random phone calls, but more to make random visits as the whim took her.  
"It's a pleasant surprise and to hear from you so early in the morning"  
"My lie in bed student days are over, dad. I have to be the responsible citizen"  
"I'm glad to hear it, Charlie." John spoke with heartfelt emotion. He had vivid and uncomfortable memories of Charlie getting into a very dangerous scrape in her Animal Liberation Front activities, which could have landed her the wrong side of the law. Thank heavens, she had got through that period in her life and was safe in the orbit of the respectable legal profession. As his thoughts were scattered somewhere between past and present, the significant pause in the conversation passed him by.  
"And talking about responsibility, dad"  
"I wasn't, Charlie but please continue"  
"I was wondering if you could find a home for a poor stray that needs looking after." The pause this time was very distinct and Charlie on the other end of the line could feel her father's mind racing to decide which verbal piece on the board to move and in what direction.  
"In the generality, Charlie, compassion is a laudable sentiment. In the particular, I am careful about committing myself to any responsibility that I could not properly follow through"  
"Well, that, all right, this one is not too big." Charlie wheedled in the tone of voice that a top salesman would respect. "First of all, Charlie is the responsibility, animal, vegetable or mineral"  
"Oh, definitely animal"  
"Cut to the chase, Charlie, as I was in a good mood when I woke up this morning and don't think I have forgotten about that row you had with your mother"  
"I'm sorry, dad for being horrible. That was days ago. In any case, it's only a cute dog that needs a home. It's been legally acquired, dad, so you don't have to worry on that score." Charlie hastily apologized about an event that was a whole week ago and slid effortlessly into her spiel. She sought to cut off the direction her father's ominous tone was leading them.  
"How are you certain of this"  
"Just because, dad." Urged Charlie. "In any case, you'd love her so much that you'd want to find her a home." "All right, Charlie, just to know what I'm dealing with. I'd better come to your flat before I make a final judgment." John pontificated in measured tones.  
On the other end of the phone, Charlie grinned to herself in relief. Her father might be deluding himself that he was going to make a more detailed investigation as if he were in charge of a crime scene, but she knew of old that he had made the first step down the ladder that would see him conceding the argument completely to her. It worked better than stamping her foot and pouting in petulant anger. She smiled fondly at the foible in his wonderful intellect that allowed him to overlook something so obvious.

Yvonne was similarly looking forward to the New Year. Her swimming pool had remained out of her reach during the bitter winter weather, and she was feeling distinctly pale and out of shape. She longed for the glorious heat of the summer season when she could pretty well live outdoors in the open. There she could tone her body by slicing through the fresh cold water in innumerable lengths of the pool and bask in the heat offered up by the sun loungers. The bright sun outside and the lengthening days were that promise to come. The seasons delivered that promise infallibly.

It was in that frame of mind that a hesitant knock on the front door reached her ears. It was that unscheduled, unexpected nature of the mysterious caller that intrigued her. She made her way to the front door and there, before her eyes, appeared the judge. She could have dropped through the floor as he was furthest from her mind.  
"Do you mind if I drop in or have you any other business"  
"Be my guest"  
Yvonne was intrigued by John's uncharacteristically subdued manner, but led the way to her living room. As he followed Yvonne, he was surprised not to be greeted by the familiar shape of Trigger, who he remembered made his presence immediately felt. She let him take his seat and just when he had made himself comfortable, popped the question that was uppermost on her mind.  
"What interests me, judge, is the reason why you've called round after all these months. Mind you, it's a change from meeting in the park"  
Yvonne's slight smile and knowing stare prompted John to lay all his cards on the table. He knew enough of this sharp-witted woman that it was useless to hide his thoughts.  
"I'll come straight to the point, Yvonne. Charlie in her infinite wisdom has persuaded me to ask around if anyone would take on a dog she's found. I don't know that many dog lovers and you came immediately to mind when I agreed to Charlie's request"  
"What sort of dog"  
"She's a one to two year black Labrador. She appears to be well trained and it shouldn't be hard to place her in a good home"  
Yvonne's eyes twinkled as she sensed his rueful manner while she appreciated his candour. If this was a chat up line, she had to give John credit for originality. Getting back to the point, it suddenly felt right for another four-legged companion to come into her life. She was certainly up for something different and resolved to go with the flow of events.  
"You don't have to look any further than me, John"  
John raised his eyebrows in surprise, and started to put two and two together. It struck him now that Yvonne's house felt unnaturally quiet.  
"If you are willing, I would be very grateful to you."

This snapshot scene cast John in a new light. Yvonne knew of old the righteous upholder of justice who had utterly dissolved away that hard cynical layer of prejudice against the profession as a whole. After all, he'd finally nailed that Snowball bitch, he'd seen right by her Lauren and had got Barbara off the hook. She was only too well aware of the other side of him, the suave, virile lover but this was yet a different John unfolding before her eyes. "Trigger died of old age a while back, John. Now you mention it, I could do with company if it felt right." "So what's the next move"  
"You fetch her and I'll see for myself and you're welcome to bring Charlie as well if she wants."

Time passed while Yvonne was waiting, she was intrigued to see what both the dog and Charlie were like. Eventually she heard the scrunching sound as John's car drew up on the front drive. Charlie stared around her wide-eyed with surprise but some streak of petulant annoyance drove her to open her mouth with the first thoughts to come to mind.

"Well, so they say that crime doesn't pay"  
"For your information, Yvonne is one of the kindest, most loyal people whom I've ever met. You would do well to remember that, and also that she can see through any disguise at one hundred paces so don't underestimate her."

Charlie flushed red with embarrassment, and trailed after her father to the front door. As John strode purposefully forward, pulled along by the lithe bounding Labrador dog, he thought that fate had dealt him the chance for Charlie's eyes to be opened a bit.

As the door opened, Yvonne had only eyes for the bright-eyed bounding Labrador who immediately connected with her and, very exceptionally, her other guests were rather ignored. Yvonne was definitely a cynic about love at first sight when it came to other human beings, considering her track record of being let down and betrayed. Her affection for the four-legged species was constant and far less complicated. In the course of the flurry of activity, the Labrador briefly explored territory of the house, declared it safe and duly approved of it. John looked on fondly at Yvonne's simple pleasure as she followed the dog while Charlie felt sidelined. Eventually, even the dog's energy was exhausted and she plonked herself on the hearth. "Well, Yvonne, I hardly need to ask you if you are willing to take on"  
"Call her Bell." Yvonne jumped in as the word materialized out of thin air. "For once, it's my choice to give a name." "I like it."

It was only now that Yvonne took in the fresh-faced girl whose affection for her father was obvious for her and was poignant. In her experience, fathers imposed ruthless charm, plenty of riches, instant obedience but never the visible interaction of feelings that she saw with her own eyes.

"I'm sorry, Yvonne but I didn't get a chance to introduce you to my daughter Charlie"  
"Charlie?" Yvonne frowned as old associations were raised by that name from their uncertain grave. "Short for Charlotte but she has always hated being called that ever since she was a little girl"  
"Yeah, Charlie Deed rolls off the tongue better"  
"I would like to speak up for myself, dad, in case I get tagged as the daughter of the famous judge." Charlie struck up pertly and with spirit.  
"And the famous barrister." Yvonne put in helpfully.  
"Yeah, that goes without saying"  
Yvonne's sharp eyes noticed the way that the expression on the younger girl's face brightened up at her mention of her father, and promptly clouded over at the mention of her mother. "Well, Bell will need a bowl of water sooner or later. Do either of you want a drink and if so, name your poison"  
"Coffee for me." responded John and Charlie echoed him. Bell's ears pricked up in appreciation and she rolled around on the rug, splaying her legs in the air. She was at her new home.

"So where did she come from?" "Charlie informed me she was legally acquired." Intoned John as his own mind started to have horrid suspicions.  
"That ain't the question I asked, judge." Yvonne retorted, and Charlie felt the other woman's gaze shift abruptly in her direction. Instinctively, Charlie knew she was in for a grilling from this very powerful woman.  
"I got the dog from a good friend of mine. She wasn't able to look after her properly as she has a demanding job in the city"  
"So where did she get Bell from"  
Charlie coloured as she could see her father start to draw unpleasant conclusions.  
"If I read this riddle right, one of your animal liberation friends stole her from a laboratory." John concluded.  
The barely perceptible nod of Charlie's head told the truth. While the expression on John's face started to assume righteous parental authority, a wide grin split Yvonne's face.  
"You mean, judge, that you've aided and abetted your daughter to break the law"  
"Unknowingly and only twice removed." Came his smooth as silk reply.  
"Don't worry, judge, I'll put in a good word for you." laughed Yvonne at John's extreme discomfort until he hastily took command of the situation.  
"Well, Charlie, for once in my life I think we ought to draw a veil over this incident. I assume that you knew very well where Bell came from. I must say, she's very well behaved, and no one would ever have any reason to consider that she came from anywhere else than a loving home. If Yvonne is happy with the matter, I think we ought to let sleeping dogs lie"  
"I'll go along with that, judge." Yvonne slyly intervened, her glance at the hearthrug telling her how apt was John's remark. In her turn, Charlie felt incredibly grateful and incredibly gauche and unlearned in the ways of the world in comparison with this formidable but kindly woman.

After time had passed drinking coffee, Bell showed signs of coming back to life. Already, Yvonne's household routines were starting to be reorganized along the lines of canine needs.  
"If you don't mind, Charlie and I'll take Bell for a walk round the garden. Get her used to the place." John knew enough of Yvonne's solid common sense to let things be. Bell's lead slotted automatically into Yvonne's hand, and they headed for the door while John lay back and relaxed on a peaceful Sunday morning as he had originally intended to do.

As Yvonne and Charlie took Bell out into the fresh air, she realized that this would give her some purpose, and give her good reason to go out into the garden besides swimming and sunbathing.  
"If I was left on my own with dad, he would have made a frightful scene"  
"I ain't that soft, Charlie. My daughter Lauren will tell you that one. I just know when and where to draw the line and when not to. From what I hear, your dad is in danger of getting into quite enough trouble as it is. I just wanted to make sure it wouldn't sneak up on him when he least expects it"  
Charlie smiled freely at Yvonne's kindly understanding of her father.  
"You're very fond of my dad, aren't you"  
That very innocent question visibly embarrassed Yvonne for a moment. Charlie could sense Yvonne's feeling of pride emerge and take command of her in being bracketed with her dad. After all, she had the perfect right to claim his friendship.  
"Yeah, you could say that. He's one of the good ones in his own way. You'll have known that I've done time. You get to see all walks of life." "You make it sound like a finishing school." Laughed Charlie.  
"Yeah, it is in a way only the room service could be better. Back to what you were saying, just understand that your dad just worries about you"  
"I wish he wouldn't. I'm grown up"  
"Parents do, you know. Give him time and you'll see what I mean."

They wandered along in a companionable silence while Yvonne gauged the distance that Charlie had gone in life's journey and how far she had yet to go. While they waited for Bell to relieve herself, Yvonne said out of the blue. "You're luckier than you know, Charlie. If only my Lauren had a dad like yours." Came Yvonne's emotion choked words. Seeing another family at work brought it all back the enormity of damage that another Charlie had done to her and her own. 


	145. Chapter 145

A/N: Credits to the Prison Service website and the BG Book written by Jodie Reynolds and Jamie McCallum

Part One Hundred and Forty-Five

For the first time in her life, Karen saw that Nikki was visibly uptight as she held a sheaf of impersonally printed Home Office annual report forms in her hand. The time would shortly come when Karen would have to do Nikki's appraisal amongst the other wing governors and that was never the easiest part of her job. Right now, she had to be quite as supportive of Nikki within the walls of Larkhall as she had to be for George outside them.  
"You have to explain what is bothering you, Nikki, before I can help you." Karen said gently.  
"The whole bloody thing."Nikki started to say and stopped dead as her feelings overpowered her. Karen said nothing but offered Nikki a cigarette, which she accepted gratefully and inhaled deeply while she fought to get her feelings under control.

"You may have had more experience of this sort of thing than you realize, Nikki. Didn't you have to advertise barmaid jobs and put out some kind of job description"  
"Yeah, I once had to work out a contract, when I started up the club. The difference was that no one thought about it a lot. The girls realized that the job had to be done my way. They would have to think of a bloody good reason to convince me any different"  
"You know very well that things aren't the same here. I've allowed you enough slack for you to do things your way but there's only so far I can go." Reasoned Karen with raised eyebrow. Nikki coloured a little, took a drag of her cigarette and explained in more even, reminiscent tones. "When I was running the club, I never had any of this rubbish about 'Officer Appraisal Notes'. I'd tell the girls that they'd been doing a great job and maybe tipped them a bottle of Moet or, if they'd been incompetent or dishonest, they'd be out depending on how bad they'd been"  
"That's all very well but your system depended on two things, one that they'd work for you and two, how fair a boss you were. It's a whole lot different here, Nikki. Any one of them could be transferred to another prison. Whatever you do will be written all over their personnel file for a perfect stranger to deal with. Then again, you know very well that there simply has to be a system that works irrespective of bosses, that protects them from the bad ones. It goes the same for you as well. There has to be systems in place so that you would be treated equally as fairly if Stubberfield were your boss as much as I am"  
Nikki shuddered at the very name. Since taking on the Wing Governor job, so many of Helen's stories came back to her of just how rough a ride she was given by that self important slime bag. She used to see him in the distance once or twice, going up to speak to Helen. She remembered feeling the way Helen's body would stiffen as she became aware of him. Thank God, he'd been packed off to the Sad Old Screws home and out of the prison service. "All right, Karen, I suppose I'll go through the pantomime. I'll have to dig out the notes you sent me of the course you bullied me into going on." Grumbled Nikki with bad grace.  
"That's what we all have to do." Came the patient reply. "Think of it this way, as a device, however wrapped around in bullshit as it is, so that everyone gets treated equally fairly. It focuses the mind. I get to countersign your reports, but don't be too proud to ask for my help before then. I mean it"  
The tenseness began to flow out of Nikki's body. The mixture of fear and aggression was the way Nikki operated under severe pressure, when she felt vulnerable. It was strange that she had sailed into covering for Karen's job within a very short time of her arrival. It never ceased to puzzle Karen how what was easy for one person was a nightmare for another. The foibles of human nature always stopped Karen from becoming complacent. This was a resolution she had adopted ever since she had become a nurse. It gave her a grounding in learning to deal with people, as the root part of her calling. "Why don't you start off with the easier PO's like Gina and Dominic? I know how sharp your memory is. Even if you haven't made all the notes that you should have done as you've gone along, it'll all come flooding back to you. Have faith"  
A small smile appeared on Nikki's face as she started to relax a little. It was the part of the job that was always a pain but she clung to her trust in Nikki in delivering the goods. Within the constraints Karen had delicately alluded, she felt safe in letting Nikki do it her way. In Karen's eyes, she reverted to being the willing packhorse who could shoulder any responsibility with that dash of initiative and flair that so marked her style.

"Helen, I really could do with your help on this appraisal interview bollocks. You must have done it in your time"  
"What's the problem, sweetheart"  
"I've been reading all this paperwork on it and I think I can make some sort of sense of it but"  
Helen's bright eyes and smile gave Nikki all the encouragement to continue "I feel a total prat in talking all this bollocks"  
"Let me have a look"  
Nikki held out the offending material. Jesus, Helen thought, the prison service had certainly borrowed the services of some lousy psychologists in terms of the introduction. However, she zeroed in on the core of what it was asking for in terms of what the interviewee had done positively and what might be improved. The objectives had been taken off some dusty blueprint and padded out in the latest jargon and buzzwords. All Nikki need do is to paraphrase the whole thing in her words. She knew the bloody job backwards by now from both sides of the bars. She was just getting hung up on the bureaucracy of it all. "I've got an idea." Helen said suddenly out of the long silence, a broad smile spreading across her face. "Why not try a role-play. I'll be the prison officer and you play yourself. That way, it'll make it easier." "Oh no." moaned Nikki. "I can't ever imagine you as some meek and mild prison officer. You're too bossy for a start. If you start talking like a prison officer, all I can see in front of my eyes is that twin piece suit you used to wear"  
"Don't remind me," Helen shuddered. "That was me making a gesture towards official dress"  
"With that short skirt"  
"Let's get back to business and relax," Helen commanded her with just that mixture of bossiness and persuasion that Nikki loved about her. "Don't worry, it won't be painful. Just trust me"  
Nikki nodded mutely. She was trapped.  
"Do you know that you are the first prison officer I've ever done an appraisal interview on, Dominic?" Nikki led off the interview in as breezy a fashion as she could conjure up. "I've been reading up how I'm supposed to do it but if I end up doing it my way, I hope you don't have any problems"  
Dominic wasn't fooled by Nikki's manner. He had come to the meeting feeling pretty relaxed as he felt that, on the whole, he'd had a pretty good year. He could tell how uncharacteristically nervous Nikki was. "Sounds fine to me, gov." Nikki smiled at the very unusual title. It had connotations of the traditional male bonding 'old boys' network of cops on the beat. She knew that Dominic's cheery delivery of the word never intended it that way. "That has to be first in my life, to be called 'gov"  
"You're the same as Karen was and Helen used to be before her. It means that you're in charge and you deserve to be in charge"  
The words achieved exactly what Dominic had set out to do. He could tell by the confidence with which she led into the interview.

"I'd better kick off with the formal bit, Dominic. You'll probably know at the start of the reporting cycle, Gina was your acting boss for a couple of months. I talked with her to make sure there wasn't anything I missed. One thing I've got to say is how impressed Gina was at that case conference last May after she seriously lost it and attacked Al McKenzie and Karen. You helped her through the detox to get her off the speed"  
"It was nothing, Nikki. It was something any decent prison officer would have done"  
Nikki's words started to come out more freely as her hand scrawled down rough notes from what was said. Besides the specifics of how Dominic had accompanied Barbara back and forth to court, the general flavour came over as to how rock solid, loyal and unassuming the man was. He had that knack of working in with all of the prison officers and that they picked up from his style, little ways of dealing with situations. He operated a natural double act with Gina and, above all, he was totally reassuring. So far, Nikki was pretty sure that she could reel off the top of her head and from her notes enough to pad out the report. 

Nikki was aware that she had talked away quite freely and only glanced down at the last minute at the report itself. Slowly she read out the words in an unnatural tone as if they were detached strangers from her voice and brain. It made Dominic smile fondly at that supremely individual boss of his.  
"Just to go back to the report, it says that I have to mark how well you have done the following throughout the year, 'carrying out security checks and searching procedures……….supervising prisoners, keeping account of prisoners in your charge and maintaining order …employing authorised physical control and restraint procedures where appropriate…..taking care of prisoners and their property, taking account of their rights and dignity…providing appropriate care and support for prisoners at risk of self harm….promoting anti-bullying and suicide prevention policies………..taking an active part in rehabilitation programmes for prisoners………..assessing and advising prisoners, using your own experiences and integrity…………and writing fair and perceptive reports on prisoners"  
Nikki paused as her thought pulled together that image of Dominic that summed him up.  
"From what we've talked about up till now, I'd say that everything you've done this year tells me that you've done everything you could possibly have done"  
Suddenly Nikki's eyes glazed over as these words spoke back to her in tones that were an official but not unkind trace of Helen's voice. Her mind went back to when she was a prisoner and the question popped out into the open. "You were here from way back when I was a prisoner. Tell me something. Was this annual report around back then? Fenner would have been hung out to dry on this job description"  
"You're forgetting just how much Jim Fenner got away with Shell Dockley and for how long. Fiddling a report is dead easy to anyone bent enough to do it. In any case Stubberfield did Fenner's report when Helen was off sick"  
Nikki's mouth fell open. Like Helen before her, she had not imagined how much could be bent, twisted and covered up. It showed how much Nikki had carried on the work of her predecessors in turning Larkhall into its opposite.  
"…so he let that bastard off the hook and stuck her knife into Helen.'Apt to hysterical overreaction, cold and aloof with colleagues; poor judge of character…; averse to constructive criticism….' Quoted Nikki in choked tones of that report long ago"  
She had been told that by Helen a long time ago but it was only now that she was doing an appraisal interview that the full force of that hatchet job came home to her. "That was a long time ago, Nikki," Dominic reminded her simply, dragging Nikki back to the present.

When Gina came through the door, Nikki was much more relaxed and perky. Gina picked up on it straightaway. "I suppose you picked me and Dominic first before you get to beat the crap out of Sylvia"  
Nikki's grin widened at Gina's inimitable bluntness. She had learned immediately that you had to take Gina as she was or not at all.  
"Hey, Gina, you know that I have to get down to business especially as it's my first time"  
"So long as I got Dominic to make you less bloody nervous"  
Nikki hesitated before continuing. She might have known.  
"Anyway, there are quite a few things that come to mind, starting off with getting stoned on hash cookies along with Karen"  
"It was all her fault." Gina said promptly, belying that with a large grin at the memory. "You mean you were led astray"  
"Something like that"  
Nikki suddenly realized that in her idiosyncratic way, she had rather strayed off the script that Helen had patiently tried to instill into her. She coughed, drank from a glass of water and tried to speak in appropriately serious tones.  
"What I was going to say that, unless there's anything I've missed, you couldn't have done a better job in preparing the ground for when I first came here as wing governor. I tried to kid everyone differently but it was a big step for me coming into this job"  
Gina shrugged her shoulders in a self deprecating fashion. .  
"I wouldn't want to leave a bloody mess behind in any job I've done, specially not for you to pick up." Nikki knew that Gina was understating her real affection for her. "You've also done a fine job in keeping things ticking over when I was covering for Karen when she was off work over Ross and whenever I've been on holiday. I take it that you are up for doing it for the future?" "Fine by me. I'm OK for a bit of short term responsibility and the extra pay comes in handy." Gina reassured her with a bright smile.  
Nikki relaxed more visibly and she steered the conversation effortlessly through the last year, including supervising Bodybag's punishment regime. Her scrawled notes and her agile mind brought into place Gina's impeccable presence on the wing and her visible strength. She had the knack of taking new nervous prison officers under her wing "How are you getting on as Natalie Buxton's personal officer"  
"I thought at first I'd done something to piss you off to land up with her." "You know it's not like that." "Well, she knows that I won't give her an inch though the crafty bitch tries it on every way. It's funny as I can talk to anyone but I know that I'll never get to work out what makes her tick"  
The words gave Nikki a funny feeling as they might have said about her a long time ago. Then she blinked and remembered her own encounters with her. She knew how right Gina was.  
"The most we can all do is to keep her contained. You know that I hate to write off any prisoner but I don't trust her an inch either. In case you didn't know, I gave you as her personal officer as I know that you're best placed to deal with her"  
The interview rambled on in a leisurely fashion, Nikki picking through the threads of Gina's past year. "I'm lucky, Gina." Nikki suddenly added with a flutter of emotion in her voice in a reflective silence. "I have a set of prison officers who almost without exception have backed me all the way. You don't know how that feels.  
"You've worked for it, Nikki. Everyone, well nearly everyone, will give it back to you"  
Nikki smiled in a self deprecating fashion. She knew she had done well but not that well. It always had needed someone else to say it for her. 


	146. Chapter 146

Part One Hundred and Forty-Six 

Chance had allowed Helen a little time for her thoughts to free float by themselves, before preparing to see her first patient. Naturally, her thought took her to Nikki and she imagined how she might be getting on. That little bit of role-play had recalled her long ago past, when she had been wing governor at Larkhall. She could feel Nikki's feelings as hers, with the sympathetic anxiety of someone who knew what her soul mate was going to go through, partly because of her own previous experience. For one second, she inhabited the skin of her former identity and all those dormant instincts rose to the surface.  
"…….but you aren't wing governor any more…" she mouthed to herself in reply. "Nikki is. Let it pass on to her who must shoulder the burden on her own at the end of the day….."

Instinct pulled her back from her worries, as confidence rose up inside her that Nikki would definitely hack it, one way or another. She told herself that she had to detach herself and come back to the here and now of being a psychologist. Her present preoccupations came back to her into sharp focus. As she sat in her chair, she pulled into her mind everything that she needed to engage with John's high intelligence and supple mind. She acknowledged that this forced her to exert her wits to the maximum. Her starting point was comparatively easy, as she had heard that George had breast cancer. What wasn't going to be easy was how to edge the conversation to that point.

She ran a sharp glance over him as he quietly made his way towards her. He certainly looked as if he had been in the wars. He looked distinctly careworn, without that spring in his step that she had noticed on other occasions.

"Well, judge, it's not been so long since we last met." Helen greeted him with a broad smile. John's smile was wan and subdued in response.  
"It seems like longer." He frankly confessed. Such a lot of water had gone under the bridge since he had set foot in this room.  
"We talked last time about your feelings of guilt and how you had difficulty in handling them." She noted that John did not respond immediately with his usual prompt precision of manner. There was a disquieting vagueness in his blue eyes, as he paused to search his memory.  
"Do you mean actual guilt or feelings of guilt?" He answered in an unsteady voice, as the functioning fragment of John's reasoning ability came to his rescue. Helen's instinct told her to temporarily back away from that one. "You felt that there was something that George was hiding from you." Helen pursued in gentle, even tones.  
"Well, I found out about that one all right." It jarred Helen's instincts to hear the mirthless laugh that was not a laugh being expelled from John's mouth, and to see the smile that was really a grimace. She allowed a pause before edging her agenda onwards.  
"Can you explain, John"  
"George has been diagnosed as suffering from breast cancer since last Christmas and never told a soul about it, not me, not Jo, not anyone until Karen found out about it. She left it too late for the hospital to do anything but operate on her. In the immortal words, she is now 'as well as could be expected"  
Helen could feel the waves of hurt and pain radiate off John, which the cold, clinical tones with which John delivered his lines failed to belie or cover up. Her hesitation attracted a sharp penetrating look from John right into her eyes and a flat statement, not a question.  
"You knew about it from what you told me about the 'old girl's network.'" Helen coloured a little. He sensed his suspicion as to how many others had known of this shattering event before he had.  
"I'm going to go 'off topic' for a bit and tell you, John, that I had not the slightest suspicion of this until Friday March 3rd 2006 when Karen arranged what I thought was an 'old girls reunion' at the pub across the way from the Old Bailey and told me, Nikki, Yvonne, Cassie and Roisin what had happened. What I want to ask you what's been happening in your life since then"  
To Helen's relief, John relaxed a little in his chair as he accepted her sincerity and her spring heeled gambit.  
"Well," he said in contemplative tones with a faraway look in his eyes. "I've been doing more caring for other people than I ever knew that I could do"  
"In your personal life as opposed to being on your judge's throne." Put in Helen. "Just so." John responding, with an appreciative nod. That insight had literally not occurred to him till now. "I had to be strong for George and deal with her feelings... I had to get Charlie to deal with the fact that even if she had been distanced from George all her life, life is limited…I had if anything a worse job in telling Joe Channing. At one point, I could swear that he was going to die of a heart attack. The only way I could get through to him was by convincing him that George's sheer bloody obstinacy of will would see her through…. you can see how it felt a long time since I'd last seen you." Helen could hear in every syllable every tone of justifiable pride in himself as John told his story and rounded it off with that lapse into introspection as he brought himself up to the present.  
"Have you ever done this sort of thing before?" asked Helen. "If you haven't, then you have done marvelously well for a beginner"  
John visibly swelled up inside to hear that high compliment paid to him. After all, in this field, he acknowledged that he was the rank inexperienced amateur, while Helen was the accomplished professional.  
"But what you haven't told me is how you felt about it, first of all about George's illness"  
John smiled wryly to himself that he might have expected her gambit. He had begun to relax and, in a flash of irritation, his emotions rushed to the fore. "Why do you build me up only to knock me down?" the words jumped out of his mouth. "You misunderstand me, judge. You've just told me that you have done a brilliant job of telling your daughter and father in law the terrible news of George's illness and doing your best to get them to deal with it. I have every reason to believe that you are telling the absolute truth"  
"So what are you getting at"  
"Simply that you have never allowed yourself to reflect about how you feel about it"  
"There wasn't time." John rapped out.  
"At the time, maybe but there is time afterwards. You have to make time for yourself even in your busy life." John paused as Helen had deftly preempted the argument that he was going to lob back at her.  
"'Who cares for the carers?' is a phrase that comes constantly to my mind. My experience is that this is a constant thread that runs through patients of mine that I have seen in the past. Believe me, you are not alone in your predicament even if you think you might be"  
"Why should I think that way"  
"Because it is highly probable that none of your circle of acquaintances in the legal profession have had the remotest experience of being a carer, or am I wrong"  
John ran his mind's eye over Monty, Brian Cantwell, Neumann Mason-Alan and the rest of the massed ranks of the legal profession and not one of them fitted the bill until Jo came into his vision. No, they were all very comfortably placed with domestic circumstances, which ran like well-oiled machines. He had been long conscious that both his turbulent love life, and his politically combative nature set him out as the odd man out. It dawned upon him that he was set apart from his brethren more than he had realized.  
"So how did you manage in all these years when you were separated from George and bringing up Charlie on your own"  
"That was comparatively easy. I have always had a rapport with Charlie. Looking after her came easy to me"  
"What did that mean to you, judge? Just taking her for Sunday morning treats and an open wallet." Helen teased. "There's more to it than that. You almost have to go through a second childhood yourself and take yourself down to her level, even to the execrable child's TV programmes she used to watch." Came John's leisurely reply in obvious fond nostalgic tones to Helen's fascination. "You have to entertain and guide a child with not too much of the traditional heavy father routine. You have to invent your own rules"  
"So what about when you were at work and Charlie was on holiday"  
"Charlie was away at boarding school for large periods of time and when she was home, I looked after her. I had childcare arrangements so that Charlie was looked after when I was at work. It also enabled me to go out and I was free to live my life. It all comes down to being organized"  
Helen didn't pursue the last point with John. It was patently clear to her that he had neatly explained how he had managed to be a serial philanderer and how he came to juggle both his personal and professional responsibilities. "So when you had to deal with Charlie's and Joe's feelings, it was the first time you had to deal with the situation on your own and one that didn't come naturally to you"  
"You could put it that way." "Let's come back to the main reason we are here to talk. How did you feel when you found out about George's illness after you had slept with Connie?"

Helen's softly spoken words came like a bolt out of the blue. John's expression of fear and self loathing was etched into the expression on his face and "I ..I.I can't talk about it"  
"You have to, John." Helen's forceful determined tones insisted. "When we talked last time, it was established that you were carrying around a real burden of guilt about your marriage to George. It's hardly likely to have lessened with your discovery of George's illness"  
"Do you consider I'm guilty?" flashed John, suddenly flailing out at random.  
"That's not for me to say," she shot back, unconsciously echoing Coope's favourite words of understated criticism, much to John's discomfiture. "I need you to talk about how you feel. We've already heard about what you did"  
"I can swear by everything that I hold dear that I never had the slightest suspicion of George's illness when I behaved so recklessly, so foolishly with Connie Beauchamp." John's broken tones were phrased so slowly, so deliberately, with such stressed emphases that this was a million miles away from the smooth talking debonair John in other surroundings.  
"But that's not what your feelings are telling you"  
Instantly, John rose to his feet, turned away promptly and paced round the room, not once but twice, with short jerky footsteps, not his normal relaxed stride somewhere out in the country. "But how do I deal with these feelings?" he burst out at last from behind Helen's back.  
"What are your feelings?" came the relentless answer. "I feel that I've been guilty of the worst form of betrayal and that I must be the most loathsome creature on this planet and I don't know what I can do about it." Muttered John, driven out from all his defences. "So why are two very caring, very strong minded women who have seen you at your best and your worst staying with you, John"  
"I don't know. Why, indeed?" John said in the most desolate of tones that made Helen's blood turn cold.

Half an hour later, Helen started to type up the notes from her previous therapy session in a leisurely fashion. This was her way of clearing her mind before her next patient. For once in her life, the intensity of John's feelings made that very hard to accomplish. It took an effort of will to distill the exchanges of words down into concrete form and make a few notes as to where to proceed next. It was one thing for John's tenacious defences to be laid bare, but it was quite another matter for John to achieve reintegration. The room was very still as Helen tapped away on her keyboard.

"So how did my role-play work yesterday?" Helen enquired over her shoulder at Nikki as she attended to the steaks under the grille. It was Monday night.  
"I kind of used it, but in places I ended up doing my own thing in the end"  
"I might have known it." Grinned Helen. She glanced at Nikki who looked as weary as Helen felt.

John was worn out at the end of the day. He made his way straight home to his enormous bed and crashed out early. He lay in bed listening to the quietest, most soothing music that he found and in a bleary haze, clicked off the music and shut out the light. It was later on, that some childhood freak of memory saw him as the driver of a steam train. He remembered how intense some of his boyhood friends were about keeping details of famous trains. He remembered that he was not that inclined but being on a real live train was different. He was childishly pleased to be able to pull the chord, and make that unmistakeable low pitched but raucous throaty whistle. The train pulled away from the station in a cloud of steam, which only partially obscured the bright sun shining down on them. Even though he realised that he was the mature, supposedly adult John, it made no difference. He could indulge that childlike side of him in perfect safety. They were off and away, and were travelling away to some great adventure. John was not sure what it would be but just knew how good it would feel.

It was only as time went on that he noticed that the train had picked up speed. He hadn't thought that steam trains sped along as fast as it was. It was all appearances and perspective, he supposed, and so he was not too perturbed. He looked at the firebox and there was a steady red-hot glow from the flames from the coal that propelled the train along. Everything was in hand, or so he thought until he gradually noticed that dark lowering clouds started to invade and eat up the blue hemisphere far above his head. Everything was changing and was not going according to schedule.

John started to get worried when the view outside turned to blackness, illuminated only by the fiery flames behind him. The train slowly gathered momentum until it was a metallic force of nature, thundering along the rails. He suddenly became aware that he was the only man that was in control of the train, if control it was. His feelings pitched up the scale of intensity, when he felt as if the train had a life all its own. As he looked around, he realised to his utter horror that the train was driving him, not the other way round. What had happened to the bright morning that promised so much for him? It was as surely turning to the ashes that the firebox so greedily consumed and left behind.

As he looked round desperately, he saw the distant lights of friendly homesteads before they were rapidly left behind. They were hopelessly lost to him, a sign of safety that was as lost to him as he felt, lost and alone. All was impenetrably dark except the lurid red flames that were stoking the speed of the train to the point of insanity.

When else had he felt so out of control, he shouted wordlessly to the fates around him? It was that night he's slept with Karen at that ill-starred conference. 'Slept with'- what a horribly hideous irony those words conjured up to his precise moment, even at a moment of psychic crisis as this? . 


	147. Chapter 147

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Forty Seven

As John rode in the lift up to the fifth floor and Keller ward, he couldn't help but wonder if he was really doing the right thing. He had called Ric that morning on Helen's advice of yesterday, and asked if Ric had time to see him, to which Ric had said yes, suggesting that John call in at lunchtime. Ric hadn't asked why John wanted to see him, which now John came to think about it was a little odd, perhaps suggesting that he at least partially guessed the reason. Would Ric think him stupid for having the concerns that he did? John sincerely hoped not. His worries over his reactions at seeing George's scar might seem pointless and insignificant to most people, but to him they seemed like enormous bridges that he just didn't know how to cross. So, now here he was, entering this highly charged atmosphere, all in an attempt to seek the professional advice of a man far busier than himself. Whether it was the right or the wrong course of action, he would very soon find out. 

When he emerged into the hustle and bustle of the space between Keller and Darwin, he walked towards the nurses' station, seeing there someone he knew. Connie was arguing with a man who had the archetypal Eton look about him, with dark hair and a gaunt face, and who was currently very angry with the woman before him. "Mr. Justice Deed," Connie said as she turned to face him, having caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. "Mrs. Beauchamp," he replied, walking up to her. "Please could you tell me where I might find Mr. Griffin's office?" "Of course," She said, leaving Will in mid strop. "If you'd like to follow me this way," She said with a smile, leading the way down the corridor into Keller territory. "Here for anything special?" Connie asked without thinking. "I'm sorry," She said, her face reddening slightly. "That was unspeakably rude of me." "Just a little advice, that's all," John said, trying to put her at her ease. "John," Connie said as she laid a hand on his arm, temporarily stopping him in his tracks. "The next few months aren't exactly going to be very easy for you." "And they're hardly going to be very easy for George," He countered back. "I know," Connie replied, trying to remain calm under John's obviously volatile emotions. "But if you should ever need someone to listen, you know where to find me. All right?" "Thank you," He said, laying a hand over hers where it still rested on his arm. "That offer is very much appreciated." 

Knocking on Ric's office door, Connie opened it before Ric could tell her to do so. "A visitor for you, Mr. Griffin," She said with a smile, holding the door open for John to enter. Ric was sitting behind his desk, sorting through patient records and eating a sandwich. "Judge, come in," He said, pushing the remains of his sandwich away from him. As Connie closed the door, leaving them to it, John's nerve almost failed him. "Sit down," Ric invited, gesturing to the slightly battered sofa. "Would you like some coffee?" Agreeing that he would, John took the offered seat. Putting his head out of his office door, Ric called to Donna to please make two coffees and bring them to his office. When she did, pushing the door open with a foot and putting the two mugs down on his cluttered desk, she said, "It's about time you got yourself a PA." "Tell that to Connie," Ric told her. "She's the one who controls the budget around here." "I think I'll leave her to you, if you don't mind," Donna said hurriedly as she backed out of the office, closing the door behind her. 

"So," Ric said, taking a swig of the scalding hot coffee. "What can I do for you?" "I hope I'm not taking up too much of your time," John replied, realising that he was stalling. "No, of course not," Ric tried to reassure him, seeing that John was finding this extremely difficult. "Am I to assume that this is about George?" "Yes," John said with a heavy sigh. "And part of me feels as though I'm betraying her trust in even being here." "Where George's breast cancer is concerned, there isn't anything I don't know, so you aren't breaking any trust," Ric said quietly. "I also might have more of an idea than you think about why you're here." "George originally chose to conceal the existence of her lump from me, because she was terrified of how she would look after any possible surgery, and how her physical attractiveness, or lack of it, would reflect on the relationship I have with her. I am not known for my ability to be faithful to both George and Jo, and George thinks that as soon as I see what she now looks like, I will have even more cause to stray." "With the likes of Connie for instance?" Ric put in quietly, just to see what reaction he would get from this man. "Did Connie tell you about that?" John asked in mild surprise. "She felt incredibly guilty," Ric told him. "She wasn't the only one," John confessed regretfully. "But Connie isn't the issue at hand. George won't allow me to see her scar, because she is still terrified of my possible reaction. Not having the faintest idea of how I will react, I don't know how to reassure her that no matter what she looks like, I will always love her." 

"What George has been left with," Ric began carefully. "Is a flat expanse of chest, where her left breast used to be. She also has a scar, running diagonally across this portion of chest from here," He put his finger in the centre of his chest. "To under her arm. Even though I do say it myself, it is a very neat scar, and will fade with time. You may initially find it a somewhat unusual sight to behold, because nothing can be more obviously missing than one of a pair of breasts. If you love her as much as I think you do, then you are extremely unlikely to find it anywhere near as disturbing as George seems to assume you will. I appreciate that this may not have been entirely helpful, but I'm not sure what else I can tell you." "It has helped," John assured him. "Because I do now have some idea of what she's determined to hide from me." "As to how successful you may be in convincing George that you do still love her, and that you do still want to make love to her, I couldn't possibly comment." "I can but try," John said somewhat ruefully. 

After a slightly thoughtful silence, Ric raised an entirely different subject. "I had dinner with Karen on Saturday night," He told John. "And managed to catch up on a potted version of the last fifteen years of her history." "That was ambitious for one evening," John commented dryly. "How well did you know her all those years ago?" "Far too well," Ric admitted with a rueful smile. "She was only twenty when I first met her, and Ross was just two. I was a general surgical registrar in those days, and Karen worked with me for the better part of six years. If anyone could keep their head in a crisis it was always Karen. She eventually left nursing to follow in the steps of a prison officer called Steve, and I didn't hear a word either from or about her until she turned up at the Hadlington with George the other week." "So it wasn't James Fenner who lured her away from nursing then?" John asked a little darkly. "No, and yes, she did tell me about him, and about all the strife he managed to cause both before and after his death." "I've occasionally found myself wondering how she's managed to keep on going," John said sadly. "Especially since Ross died last year." "My eldest son Leo, he got into drugs, but I managed to get him back on the straight and narrow," Ric said, finding it so easy to share confidences with this man who probably knew far more than he now did about his old lover and friend. "And Karen would have tried to do the same for Ross, except for the fact that he insisted that she shouldn't be told about his condition," John filled in. "So, she had no idea until he was dead." "For those six years that she was working for me," Ric continued thoughtfully. "Her entire life was centred around her son, with the exception of the occasional tryst with one of her colleagues, every thought and every action went into that child's welfare." 

When they'd been talking for a good half an hour, there came the sound of running feet along the corridor, followed by the thrusting open of Ric's office door. It was Diane, looking slightly dishevelled and out of breath. "Ric," She said, skidding to a stop in front of his desk. "We've got an RTA on the way up from the ED, with a massive abdominal trauma, possibly involving liver, spleen, and god knows what else. It's way too complex for me and Jac to attempt on our own." "And where is Mr. Jordan?" Ric asked. "He's at the new keyhole procedure conference in Manchester, remember?" "Ah yes, I'd forgotten he'd gone up there for the day. Go and join Jac and get this boy racer patient of ours anaesthetised and opened up and I'll be with you in a minute." "Actually," Diane put in as she moved to the door. "It's a woman, so less of the boy racer quips, please." Then, seeing John, she said, "Sorry for disturbing you." "Oh, don't mind me," John replied with a smile. When Diane had gone, Ric said, "I'll have to go, but I hope I've been able to be of some help to you." "Yes, and thank you," John assured him. "What I suggest you do," Ric said with a last minute thought. "Is to try and make her feel as wanted and aroused as possible. You never know your luck." 


	148. Chapter 148

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Forty Eight

As John drove away from the hospital, he knew precisely what he must do. He had informed Coope that he would be taking the afternoon off, and as he wasn't in the middle of a trial and was up to date with all his papers, she didn't protest. He needed to go to see George, to spend the afternoon with her, and to possibly try and break down some of her barriers. He wondered just how she might receive his attempts to uncover her scar. He prayed that she would eventually let him see it, because only when she did, could he begin to sincerely reassure her as to the depth of his love for her. 

When he arrived, he could see that the curtains in the lounge were closed against the wind and rain that were pounding against the windows. As he stood on the step waiting for her to answer his ring at the doorbell, he could feel the occasional droplets of rain running down the back of his neck. When George let him in, she smiled. "You look like a drowned rat," She said on seeing him. "I thought I would take the afternoon off and spend some time with you," He said, removing his jacket and hanging it up in the hall above the radiator to dry. "Mr. Justice Deed on the skive," She mused thoughtfully. "I like it. So, what plans does My Lord have for me then?" "What plans would you like me to have?" He countered back, putting his arms round her and kissing her deeply. "That's a pretty good start," She replied with a smirk, feeling vaguely in the mood for some of his particular type of seduction. 

Going into the lounge, they moved towards the large armchair that sat at right angles to the blazing open fire. Sitting down in the armchair, John pulled her down onto his knee. He loved having her close to him like this, and he momentarily buried his face in her hair, taking in the combination of shampoo, perfume and cigarette smoke that was undoubtedly George. "I do hope that you're not postponing anything important to be here," She said, snuggling her face into his neck. "No," He assured her. "I'm not due in court until tomorrow, and I'm up to date with all the reading for it. So, at least for the next few hours, I am entirely at your disposal," he added, softly kissing her and making her whole body shiver at the possibility of what was to come. They sat, snugly close in front of the fire, intermittently kissing and talking, George really beginning to relax in his arms. The only sounds within the room were the crackling of the logs in the grate, and the occasional howling of the wind down the chimney. This contented silence was punctuated by their deepening kisses, and the soft and gentle words that passed between them. "I want so much to touch you," John said after some considerable time, his words leaping out as if of their own accord. "There's no one here telling you not to," George said silkily, leading his hand to her one and only breast. "I don't want to do anything that you might not be ready for," John told her sincerely, cupping her breast in his hand, and tenderly massaging the fleshy softness he knew so well. "I think that I am ready for it," She said quietly. "As well as that other thing I know you would like to accomplish at some point today," She added knowingly. "Am I quite so transparent?" He asked, not having expected her to see through his plan quite so easily. "In matters of the female body, John, your motives are always transparent," She told him with a mocking smile. "But I love you for it." "Then, shall we move somewhere a little more comfortable?" He suggested, wanting nothing more than to further her pleasure. "Yes," She agreed immediately. "But let's stay down here in front of the fire." 

As she rose from his knee, he unfastened the zip at the side of her skirt, allowing it to pool at her feet as she stepped out of it. Drawing her to stand in between his parted thighs, he began unbuttoning her blouse, eventually casting it over the back of the chair he was sitting in. When he joined her on the rug in front of the blazing fire, he laid his cheek on the soft, warm skin of her midriff, leaving gentle, butterfly kisses with every touch of his lips. He wanted to make love to her, really make love to her, to give her every ounce of pleasure he could think of. He kissed his way up until he was nuzzling at her bra-covered breast, eventually taking the material covered nipple between his lips and grazing it with his teeth. She gasped as he did this, and he gently sucked on her nipple through the material, eliciting a groan of developing lust from her. Abandoning her breast for the time being, he kissed his way down to the top of her thighs, using the tip of his nose to slightly push aside the scrap of fabric she called underwear. His nose gently traced the smooth skin of her mound, with his tongue flickering briefly over her exposed clitoris. But to George's infinite frustration, he didn't pursue his oral endeavours, but began kissing his way down her left leg, and returning ever so slowly up the length of her right. "John, please," she all but begged him. Reaching the waistband of her knickers, he took the elastic deftly between his teeth, drawing it away from her body only to let it ping back into place. "You are a bigger tease," She told him with a frown of frustration. "Than a vibrator whose batteries have run out half way through." John laughed, never before having been compared to a sex toy of any kind. "I didn't know you had one of those," He said, enchanted by the idea. "And you still don't," She said a little hurriedly, telling him that she did but that she wanted to hide it from him at all costs. 

"Tell me how wet I make you," He said, still playing teasingly with the waistband of her knickers. "Remove those and you can find out for yourself," She quipped back. "Ah, but maybe I want you to tell me." "Don't tell me that My Lord actually wishes me to talk dirty to him after all these years of avoiding such a shameful activity?" "Mmm perhaps," He replied noncommittally. She was right in that he had never outrightly asked her to talk in such a way to him, as he had always avoided doing the same for her. But maybe now it was time he tried something entirely new with her. "You make me as hot and wet as the heart of a rainforest," She told him without any further delay. "And if you keep on teasing me in the way you are, I suspect my underwear will no longer be a suitable barrier between you and my ever rising level of arousal." Her words, uttered in that sultry, sexy drawl he knew so well, were making him as hard as a rock, and his trousers distinctly uncomfortable. "Am I making My Lord all hard and ready for action down there?" She asked, now doing some teasing of her own. "You're not kidding," John admitted ruefully. Deciding that enough playing had gone on, he swiftly removed her knickers and buried his face between her slightly spread thighs. Oh god, her taste, her exquisite sweetness, it was like a nectar from the all mighty. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I tasted you?" He asked, briefly lifting his face from her centre. "It feels like it's been far too long." His lips gently nibbling at her smooth but swollen labia, he breathed in her scent as though it were a matter of life and death. Running the tip of his tongue down between her labia, he encountered the overflow flood of her arousal, her juices running over his tongue and his lips like the finest of wines and the rays of the sun all rolled into one. He thrust his tongue into her entrance, the tip of his nose massaging the engorged bud of her clitoris. Becoming aware of the frequent whimpers that were emanating from her, he lifted his face from her fountain of deliciousness, slipping three fingers inside her supple, silky warmth as he did so. "Don't feel you need to be quiet on my account," He told her a little unsteadily. "If you want to shout, then shout, I don't mind." "You might come to regret that," She told him a little breathlessly. As his fingers relentlessly stabbed in and out of her, he deftly nibbled on her clitoris, causing her to cry out at the sensation. "God, John," She said as her pleasure mounted. "You'll be the death of me at this rate." "And that isn't something to joke about," he told her sternly. "Just a turn of phrase, darling, not an actual prediction," She tried to reassure him, gently running her fingers through his hair. "Though I can't help thinking that it would be a wonderful way to die." She would have said more, but as he curled his fingers in order to seek out her G spot, she really did almost shout with the intensity of the feeling. Reaching up with his spare hand, he began rolling her nipple between finger and thumb, maximising every possible sensation until she was a quivering, pulsating collection of want and need. When she finally crested her peak, she definitely did shout, all but screaming at the level of sheer ecstasy that almost made her black out. 

As he gently removed his fingers from inside her, and lay down next to her, her breathing began to return to normal. "Was that up to My Lady's wishes?" He enquired silkily, softly kissing her cheek. "I think that was the most intense orgasm I've had since Christmas," She told him honestly. "Certainly sounded like it," He replied with a rather wicked smile. "You were the one who told me to let go," She reminded him. "And I haven't heard such a glorious expression of pleasure in a very long time. You weren't holding anything back, and that's what I wanted, for you to be as thoroughly sated and relaxed as possible." "So that you can now persuade me into letting you uncover the rest of my less than desirable body." This was a statement not a question, because she realised that this was what he'd been working up to since he'd arrived on her doorstep. "George, if you really don't want me to see it, then say so, because I'm not about to pressure you into doing what I realise you are still very much afraid of." "Yes, I am still afraid of your reaction to me," She told him quietly. "But I know that my fear will only increase the longer I leave it." Putting his arms round her, John just held her for a while, allowing her to come down from her very intense orgasm, gently running his hand up and down her back. On one of these journeys along her spine, he lingered on the fastening of her bra, deftly unhooking it as he had a thousand times before. Using both hands now, he carefully removed this one remaining article of clothing, taking with it the soft, breast-shaped padding that now filled the left side of her bra. Putting her bra and its insert to one side, he gazed down at her chest. Her right breast was just as he remembered it, its rosy-pink nipple just begging to be caressed. But to the left of this, was the flat expanse of chest that Ric had described, with the livid scar running diagonally across it. Seeing the look of sheer sadness in his eyes, and the moisture that threatened to spill over at any moment, she asked, "Do I look quite so repulsive to you?" "No, no, of course you don't," he said hurriedly, striving to reassure her as much as was humanly possible. "It just saddens me that this had to happen to you, but it doesn't make you any less beautiful in my eyes, not in the slightest. I still want to make love to you, I still want to touch and kiss you as much as I ever did. You are George, my George, my George who can make me experience a level of sexual desire that can be rivalled by no other, except for that which I feel for Jo. So please, don't ever think that I don't love you or want you just because of this." Lowering his face to her chest, he kissed a delicate pattern along the angle of her scar, briefly laying his cheek on the flat portion of her chest. As she stroked his cheek as he did this, she knew that any worries she might have had about John, were entirely unnecessary. He did still love her and he did still want her, as was clearly testified by the hardness she could feel digging into her thigh, even through his trousers. 

"You're wearing far too much, you know," She said, her voice a little unsteady, full of emotion as it currently was. "Is that an invitation to further our afternoon of sincerely hedonistic pleasure?" He asked, sitting up to remove his shirt and toss it aside, as she worked on his belt and flies. "Without a doubt," She replied, pressing her hand against the throbbing hardness of his manhood which was clearly itching to escape from its confinement. "Oh, no," She said in honest distress. "We can't, at least not in the normal way, as I'm still in danger of conceiving, which is something neither of us needs." "Good job I dropped in at the chemist on the way here then, isn't it," He said with a smirk of triumph, getting up and going out into the hall to retrieve the little packet from his jacket pocket. When he returned and dropped the packet on the floor beside her and began removing the rest of his clothes, she gazed up at him with a playful smirk on her face. "I haven't had sex with one of these for years," She said, holding up the packet of condoms and closely examining it. "I do admire your ingenuity though, darling, well done." As he rejoined her on the floor, she gently pushed him to lie on his back, and with one hand she tore off the wrapping to the packet, and with the other she began testing his hardness, running her hand expertly along his length, making him suck in a breath of sheer pleasure as he felt her firm but gentle touch. When she had extracted one of the awkwardly wrapped condoms from the packet, she realised that it would require both her hands to remove the condom itself. So, moving down his body, she temporarily engulfed his straining erection between her pouting lips, causing him to groan in delight. "I love you," He said a little unsteadily, causing her to laugh with her mouth full. He always loved her when she did this for him. Casting the wrapper of the condom aside, and removing her mouth from his engorged shaft, she applied the barrier between his sexual fluids and hers, and immediately sat astride him, taking him fully into her slick and moist heat. As she gripped his hips with her thighs, slowly moving up and down as he grasped her waist between his hands, she knew what it was to feel whole again. There was always something missing from her life when she wasn't sleeping with him for some reason, whether that be an argument, or trying to hide such as her lump from his usually observant gaze. Pulling her down to lie against his chest, he thrust in and out of her, not minding as much as he thought he would that there was a thin, latex barrier between their interconnected centres. As they writhed in that age old way, they both felt that no matter what came next, the two of them, plus Jo when they could all three be together, could at least try to weather any storm, their united love and affection for each other providing the strength and support that they all would need. 


	149. Chapter 149

A/N: Credits to the Prison Service website

Part One Hundred and Forty-Nine

Nikki lit an early morning cigarette, and sipped at a cup of strong black coffee. She didn't normally resort to caffeine to prop up her energy level, as it was normally up to any demands that she cared to put on it. She had to admit to herself that she was dog tired. She had worked through one appraisal interview after another, with machine driven force of will, with just enough time to allow her natural manner to prevent her sound as if she were doing it by rote. She had written up the last report at home into the small hours of last night. Everything was nearly done apart from the last interviewee, and that was Sylvia Hollamby.

She groaned inwardly as she thought of the prospect. She could anticipate nothing else but a ding-dong battle with that monument to prejudice and narrow-mindedness. She was certain most of all, that she would face that immovable malignant resentment of Nikki's very existence of being set in authority over her.

"Take a seat, Sylvia." Nikki offered her in as positive a tone that she could summon up.  
The other woman only scowled and moved forward to occupy the chair with as bad grace as possible. "As you know, it's time for your annual appraisal when your performance over the year is assessed against your job description"  
"Hmmh, I suppose you've made up your mind already"  
"No, Sylvia, I'll hear anything any one of my staff want to say that's relevant and that includes you"  
Nikki's smooth response promptly headed off the other woman's line of reasoning, and pressed her own authority down on the scowling woman, who had still not come to terms with Nikki's presence in Larkhall.  
"We'd better get on and talk about what you've done in this last year. Perhaps you'd care to speak"  
"Well, I've done as I've always done. No con, I mean prisoner, has escaped while they've been in my charge. I've shown them who's boss, and I have maintained good order and discipline to the best of my ability"  
"…..And you've acted with perfect integrity and fairness all the time"  
"Hmmh. Well, they've all got everything that was coming to them"  
"Including Barbara Mills. I would say that your treatment of her has shown how bigoted you are. This is a particular instance of how you have let your personal feelings get in the way of your job"  
"You would say that, wouldn't you? After all, you're her friend and you've bent over backward in your treatment of her." Shot back Bodybag with a malicious smile. A wave of weariness spread through Nikki. She had been halfway expecting that retort , but it did hit a vulnerable spot in her. Where the Julies, Denny and Barbara were concerned, she felt that the boundaries might be in danger of getting blurred. Right now, her own rule of questioning her own actions was shading into self-doubt. She reached out for an answer and suddenly, the mental fog was blown away by the wind. "Friendship has nothing to do with it, Sylvia. I expect all my prison officers to treat prisoners fairly, whether they are the Julies or Natalie Buxton"  
Bodybag scowled at Nikki's firm response, and slouched back into her chair. Instinct told her to keep her head down if she was on the losing side of an argument.  
"Have you anything more to say about your last year, Sylvia?" "There's nothing I can say that will be of any use."

"Shall we proceed….'carrying out security checks and searching procedures'……I can say that you have met this to my satisfaction ……'supervising prisoners, keeping account of prisoners in your charge and maintaining order employing authorised physical control and restraint procedures where appropriate'……..well, nothing that has come to my ears to say that you haven't acted improperly in this respect"  
"Don't strain yourself in thanking me." Came the ungracious reply. Nikki refused to rise to the bait.  
"When it comes to 'taking care of prisoners and their property, taking account of their rights and dignity, providing appropriate care and support for prisoners at risk of self harm,' I cannot mark you as fitted on this count. I have touched on your attitude to Barbara Mills. You have acted the same with other prisoners and the truth of the matter is that your behavior hasn't changed. You allow your bigoted set of values to take over and you simply have no respect from your fellow prison officers, from prisoners and from me. The only change that has taken place is that you are marginalized and you have to be more discreet about it. You just nurse your grudges and don't let them or your past go." "You're speaking tommyrot." Bodybag burst out.  
"I have it on the best authority, Sylvia, that this is what you said about Barbara.' You'll never change her. You should know that you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.' Do I make my point"  
Sylvia just glowered in silence, as Nikki severely indicted her with her own words.

When it comes to 'promoting anti-bullying and suicide prevention policies', 'taking an active part in rehabilitation programmes for prisoners', I have to say that you have simply skived out of any opportunity to show that you are up to the job"  
"It wasn't what I was trained to do when I started this job many years ago." Snorted Bodybag.  
"This is part of the job now, Sylvia." Nikki retorted with a hard edge to her voice. "Times have changed and not before time. Once again you are not up to the mark. So let's come onto the final matter of 'assessing and advising prisoners, using your own experiences and integrity and writing fair and perceptive reports on prisoners……………' My judgment about your lack of fairness flows into this area. As well as this,your reports are slipshod and scanty"  
"I was taught many years ago how to write a report. They've done the job well enough down the years." Snapped Sylvia.  
"What kind of job, Sylvia? To my mind, the only function they achieve is to keep your back covered so that if any real trouble breaks loose, nothing can be laid at your door. As you know, I'm not a fan of the prison system as it was and I have to ask myself that if I choose to trawl through your reports down the years to check out for any of the abuses that have taken place, would I find any enlightenment in your reports? I think not"  
Nikki's cold hard tones only betrayed the faintest tremor of anger as, despite her best efforts, her own words recalled many bitter memories of injustices not brought to book. Bodybag knew very well what Nikki was alluding to and clammed up tight.  
"Before I move on, I have to put to you your scandalously incompetent and malicious behaviour in giving evidence in court as a prosecution witness at Barbara Mills' trial…" Nikki began when she was interrupted.

"It's not in the job description, so you can't mark me down on this. If you do, my union will have something to say about it. You can expect your first grievance in your in tray and this will blot your copy book." Bodybag beamed with poisonous relish. She had been waiting for this moment and enjoyed every moment of telling Madam where to get off.  
"If you care to look at your annual report in its entirety, Sylvia, you will see that your objectives all come under a general description of 'acting in a professional manner." Nikki explained in a tone of strained politeness. "After all, only your main duties are covered. It does not, it cannot include every single activity that is undertaken throughout the year, especially when it does not fall to every prison officer to give evidence in court. That gives me leeway to include this black mark on your record for the purpose of your appraisal." "So if you don't get me one way, you'll get me another, miss"  
"You mean when you connived with Dr Nicholson to ship Shell Dockley out to the muppet wing after Fenner was stabbed and she got beaten up in the showers?" shot back Nikki in icy tones. She let the silence hang in the air for a couple of minutes before carrying on. "If I come back to your appearance in court, the best thing I can say is that it is am embarrassment to the prison service. If I take a hard line on you, your remarks totally prejudiced the opportunity of a fair trial, which was only rescued by the skin of the teeth. Your very worst action that day was to bring up Barbara's previous conviction"  
"I thought it right that the jury should know the nature of the woman they were dealing with"  
"Do you really not understand, Sylvia? There are rules of evidence of what can and cannot be admitted in court." Stormed Nikki, losing all patience with the stupid woman." When we enter court to give evidence, we are on their turf, not ours. Like it or not, that is the way it goes and for this reason, the judge has rightly banned you permanently from ever giving evidence in court, something that I shall rigorously uphold so you can kiss goodbye to your expenses as well"  
"That was the way I was trained to give evidence"  
"And for this reason, I shall give every prison officer a training course in how to give evidence in court in a proper fashion so that your fiasco will never, ever be repeated while I'm wing governor"  
"You?" "Why not? I'm well qualified." Cut back Nikki with absolute assurance.  
"I suppose that you plan to push me out of my job in the same way that Di Barker was got rid of"  
"What makes you say that, Sylvia"  
"Oh, come on, it's as plain as a pikestaff"  
"On the contrary, it is not. Di Barker very deliberately sneaked out a news cutting of Karen's address to Shell Dockley, and abused the trust of me and her fellow officers. She knew very well that it would give Shell a focus on how to escape from Ashmore, a reason to escape and that sooner or later, with her track record she would do it. Her scheming resulted in Karen's life being put seriously at risk, and could have had further repercussions into the bargain. It turned out that there were no serious consequences but there could have been. Your mischief was more limited in its possible consequences, but don't think that I have forgotten it, especially not when I have to review your probation this August"  
"What do you mean? I'll be back without anyone snooping on my every move"  
'I wouldn't bet on it." Came Nikki's dry response. She helped herself to a glass of water as her throat was dry and on the point of packing up on her. She would have loved to smoke a cigarette, but she was duty bound to respect the wishes of a non-smoker, even Sylvia. 

"I suppose you'll enjoy the next bit, tearing my reputation to pieces in print and blackening my name"  
"You'll get a report that will reflect last years performance." Nikki answered cautiously. She didn't dare think of the very difficult job she had of keeping her own prejudices out of putting pen to paper. "What's always interested me is how you once got to be a Senior Officer. On the face of it, the appraisal system won't have changed. You certainly aren't any different than you used to be years ago so how did it happen"  
Bodybag was silent. She wasn't going to let on how she had got her promotion. It all seemed so much easier in those days as they were all in the same club. "No explanation? Well, I can assume the worst. Have you anything else to say"  
Nikki's last technical courtesy was brushed aside.  
"I'm going. Off to the club."

The sudden quiet was almost deafening to Nikki, as she smoked that much craved cigarette and looked down at her scrawled notes. Wearily, she turned to her computer to tap out the familiar phrases and to seek the dry, unemotional words that would pin that evil bigoted woman down as effectively as a butterfly under a glass case. It was sheer will power that drove her on. It was an hour or so when she had done and briefly announced to a concerned Gina that she was taking the rest of the afternoon off.

Helen was immediately concerned how weary and listless Nikki was when she got home. The other woman lay full length on the sofa, her eyes closed. A half empty glass of water and a clean ashtray lay at her side.

"Sweetheart, you look dreadful. Come on, let me look after you"  
There were moments like these that Nikki loved in Helen, especially that melting soft tone in her voice that made her feel loved. Despite her reluctance to be fussed over, she let Helen tuck a duvet round her and slide a pillow under her head. She basked in the attention, while Helen prepared an evening snack. She lay there immobile while soft relaxing music was played from her CD to ease a little of the stress out of the day. The sidelights left dim circles of light on the living room wall while the rest of the room was left in comforting gloom. The world was at peace, at least temporarily so. Even though it was early, Helen encouraged Nikki to have an early night. As soon as Nikki's head hit the pillow, she fell fast asleep. Behind her, Helen lay protectively next to her and all was comforting blackness.

Nikki couldn't remember how she ever found herself back in her office and the personnel file of none other than Jim Fenner before her. She supposed that she had become punch drunk, after cutting a swathe through the appraisal interviews and feverishly committing them to paper before her memory was blurred. She must have forgotten about him but it didn't matter. He was there before her and no matter how tired she felt, he was far more uncomfortable than she was.  
"Ah, Jim Fenner, grab a seat. You are last but not least in how much attention I shall devote to you"  
"I suppose you left me till last to wind me up, or else that you think I'm the most trouble to you," growled the man, intense anger radiating off him in waves. His features were settled in their familiar scowl but Nikki's force of personality held him in her power. She was surprised to see that the pips on his uniform were absent. She supposed that he had been demoted.  
"Now why should you ever think that way, Jim?" Nikki answered in bright tones with an unconscious suggestion of George's aristocratic drawl. From seeing George in action, she had sponged up on that particularly effective verbal ploy. The intense glare of anger told Nikki that it had worked.  
"You and I have never got on. You've always had it in for me, so spare me this pantomime"  
"You know very well that I'll treat all my staff, including you, straight down the line, no favouritism….But don't ever think that you can use that against me"  
Nikki's bright firm opening response shifted like lightning to a much quieter, deadlier whiplash threat. She gathered into herself all the force of personality that she had learned over the years. She could feel her eyes burn into the man on the other side of her desk. Fenner was the first to look away.  
"You were bang out of order in demoting me." Growled Fenner, his number one grievance to the fore."You're lucky I didn't take you to the union as a grievance, for harassment"  
"Not sexual harassment, I trust?" Nikki shot back a barbed response." Save that for Rachel Hicks, Shell Dockley…….and Helen Wade"  
"Come again"  
"Better known to you as Helen Stewart. You have a bad reputation for going way, way over the mark in rooms where there aren't any witnesses. This time around, I'm not taking any chances. Walls have ears and eyes"  
"I've got my pension to think of. It isn't worth screwing up over you"  
"So long as you're around long enough to get it." Cut back Nikki dryly.

Suddenly a crack of thunder jumped out of nowhere, and rolled round Nikki's office. A fierce blast of wind splattered the first onslaught of a torrential downpour against the window panes. She glanced sideways at the window, and saw that dark, lowering clouds had rapidly overshadowed her view of the exercise yard. Fenner didn't blink an eye as if these elemental forces were no stranger to him. As he said nothing, she went to offer him a cigarette, as she reached for one herself. She was not surprised that he curtly refused it.

"What am I doing here in any case?" Fenner muttered, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts." Simon's done my review. ……What are you doing here, Wade"  
He added more aggressively.  
"Nikki Wade, if you please. Let's get the courtesies right. You should know that I'm your new wing governor in case you hadn't forgotten. Stubberfield is long gone and I'm here to"  
"Really piss me off"  
"No, Jim. To sit in judgment over you, if you like. You know that this has been a long , long time coming"  
Nikki's steely tones beat down Fenner's anger. In his eyes, that dyke Wade had the knack of looking at him with thinly veiled contempt, and could see his every thought. She was beyond his control, and deep down that both angered and scared him.Added to this was that tone of command, which had dominated him through his Army days, no matter how hard he had tried to imitate it. Even all the years he had climbed up the greasy pole of success didn't protect him. He fell silent. "Let's get down to business, Jim and see how you've performed according to the guidelines that you'll have signed up to last year. As you have said often enough round the PO's room, you've been around a long time so the whole process should be familiar to you"  
"Not these guidelines, they're not. They're the sort of thing that soppy Stewart has dreamed up." "Well, like it or lump it, they are standards against which your performance is to be judged. You can't plead ignorance…..Let me see, we'll go through them in order and consider how far you've met them, or not as the case may be"  
Nikki's level formal tones had the knack of getting under Fenner's skin more that he would have thought possible. They conveyed the power that she had over him. "Well, let's see…….carrying out security checks and searching procedures……..I've got nothing particular one way or another….except that you've always been a bit lax where Dockley's concerned. Remember her"  
"You're lying. I'm her personal officer, that's all"  
"Very personal, I'm sure. It's funny that Dominic busts her for dealing drugs and you with all your experience never so much as found an aspirin on her. Then there's 'supervising prisoners, keeping account of prisoners in your charge and maintaining order employing authorised physical control and restraint procedures where appropriate.' Well, I have to admit that you like the sound of your own shouting but it's funny how Shell Dockley keeps headbutting the prison wall. A bit suspicious, don't you think? Is it any wonder that you were suspended, at least until you somehow wormed your way out of trouble. If I hear of one more incident of this type…and I will hear of it, trust me, then I'll make sure you're out of the prison service without your pension"  
"Is that all?" glowered Fenner."Nothing nice to say as usual"  
"Why should I? How can I find anything positive to say about you when I look at how you have 'taken care of prisoners and their property, taking account of their rights and dignity, providing appropriate care and support for prisoners at risk of self harm' and 'promoting anti-bullying and suicide prevention policies.' That has to be the biggest joke of all. Oh yeah, you have 'taken care of some of them all right if they are young, vulnerable, and don't know enough about how to say no. To you, prisoners have no rights at all. They are only to be played with if they take your fancy and easily disposable if they turn awkward. As for 'prisoners at risk of self harm' I have only two words to say to you. Rachel Hicks. You are a sexist, homophobic monstrosity and the worst bully anyone could hope to meet outside of a horror movie. If I could give you minus ten for your report, I would do."

Fenner just sat back woodenly, while Nikki built up her systematic denunciation into a storming crescendo. She had bottled up her feelings for so long, and now it all came out in a stream of controlled fury. She could hear very clearly that little voice at the back of her head that had taught her discretion, just how far to push a situation without it blowing back in her face. She paused as she took a large drink of water as her throat was getting dry. When she continued, it was in much quieter tones as she summed up.

"So, Jim Fenner, just what sort of prison officer are you? I cannot mark you as having satisfied any of your personal objectives that you signed up for. It's a wonder that you weren't given the push years ago." "You think you're so smart with all those long words, you interfering dyke. You're missing out one thing that's right under your bloody nose. It's called jail craft, something that you don't pick up in fancy books. You get to learn it by doing the job, by breaking up trouble before it has a chance to start. You use your eyes and your ears. I've worked longer at this nick longer than anyone. If you push me too far, I'll make sure that you'll regret that you ever crossed my path…….." 

"Oh, Jim, I have had such a lot of ideas of what I would do to you if I had the chance." Nikki cut in, in a surprisingly reflective almost sing song tone of voice. It caught Fenner off balance, anticipation that Nikki would be drawn into a full-scale row. "One time, I might have stabbed you with a smashed milk bottle if Helen hadn't stepped in. I could never think of a punishment big enough for you. Then, one day, I found the answer. You are very deeply pathologically disturbed, Jim Fenner so the answer is to cure you. I'm going to sign you up to a course of counselling that a friend of mine will oversee. You have no choice on the matter. He has a background as a psychiatrist who will be better suited than the alternative I had in mind……." Nikki had thought originally of Helen but had ruled out the idea. There was too much dangerous history between the two of them, so that she could not think of exposing Helen to such a dangerous risk.  
"Thomas, please come in." she called out in a louder tone of voice." It's time to introduce you to your next client"  
As she spoke, Thomas promptly slid in through the door from her secretary's room where he had observed and heard everything that had gone on through a spy hole.  
"No, no, anything but that." Fenner burst out, his eyes bulging, sweat pouring down his face.  
"Well, Jim, we are going to get to know each other very well." Thomas said heartily, extending his hand to shake Fenner's limp grip in a firm handshake, before adding in a confiding whisper. "I promise not to take a swing at you this time"  
"Take him away, Thomas. You know, Fenner, that you cannot escape your destiny. You get an unsatisfactory marking from me this year but, who knows, with caring counselling you might make the grade next year"  
"You lay one finger on me, Mr Shrink and I'll…." Fenner snarled, pulling away from the handshake.  
"Come on, Jim," Dominic intervened from out of nowhere," You know it is all for the best. You need from really caring professional help to straighten you out, someone really able to really get inside your head. Don't worry, Thomas will be really kind and understanding." Nikki watched in a curiously detached frame of mind how Dominic's soothing words contrasted with the steely grip with which he grasped Fenner's shoulder. Thomas seized the opportunity to frog march him away from her from his other side. It was as if all her power of command radiated outwards to these two very able work colleagues of like mind. She sat in a curiously contented frame of mind as Fenner's shrieks of anguish resonated in her office, and how the two determined men wheeled him out of her door and away. She knew for certain that Fenner would never come back………………. 

Nikki stretched out her legs and lay back in her chair, exhausted ……and couldn't work out how her naked foot suddenly connected with soft flesh.  
"Jesus, Nikki." An unexpected Scottish voice invaded her office out of nowhere without opening the door first.  
"Where am I?" she heard her muffled voice say to yourself.  
"In bed next to me, Nikki." Nikki became aware that she was lying horizontal rather than lying back in her chair, feeling zonked out. She also realized that she was wearing a nightie, not her suit and that a crumpled duvet lay over them both. It comforted her that she was living with Helen, after all and didn't have to look out on the wing for any more trouble from that bastard. "I was dreaming that I was doing Fenner's appraisal." Nikki replied with a shaky laugh.  
"And what sort of mark did you give him?" Helen asked lightly. She refrained from making any comment about Nikki letting work get in the way of her sleep, let alone her homelife. She'd been there or something similar to it.  
"Even worse than Sylvia's. I'd demoted him as well." "Well, you won't have to write out the report and hand it to him, as he's saved you the trouble by being dead." Helen retorted, suppressing a grin. By all accounts, even Nikki's dreams were so typical of her.  
"Oh, that's good." Mumbled Nikki unthinkingly. "You know, Nikki, I ought to take you out for some kind of treat, either an expensive meal or the best musical experience or anything you want." Pronounced Helen in her most determined forceful tones.  
"Did I ever tell you that I love it when you're bossy," Nikki said weakly and lay limply while Helen cuddled her closely. She hadn't the physical energy to move much less argue. 


	150. Chapter 150

Part One Hundred and Fifty 

The next day, Nikki entered Larkhall with a lighter heart than she had had for the last few weeks. She still felt pretty bleary eyed from last night's disturbed sleep, but she was sure that she could manage to get through another day. "Morning, Nikki." Selena addressed her with new respect as she headed for her office while Nikki smiled vaguely in reply. She was too tired to register the fact that Selena viewed Nikki with new respect, because of her sharp-eyed sympathetic insight into her last year's work. It was akin to Karen's own brisk and businesslike style of previous years, yet with her own subtly different colorations.

She picked up all her typed up reports, which were nicely sealed up in envelopes. She resolved to commit them to Karen's care and see them off her hands. She had got to the point that they weren't going to be any better than they were and, with almost maternal pride, popped them under her arm and headed for Karen's office. Without any preamble, she strolled in and spoke before Karen had focused her full attention on her.  
"I've done the lot, Karen." "I'm impressed. I can see by the lines under your eyes that you've worked really hard on them. Did you have any problems"  
"Nothing I couldn't solve… with a bit of help with Helen in practicing one of her experiments in forcing me into a role-play"  
Karen grinned at the vision it conjured up. She predicted that, for all the training and her advice, Nikki would have stamped her own individualist twist on them.  
"Well, I'll study them with great care and I must congratulate you. The first time is always the hardest"  
"Isn't it always"  
Karen laughed at Nikki's humour and the general good mood. It did her good to experience the lighter side of life, rather than be an unintentional player in a heavy drama. A ray of sunlight played over her face. She didn't want to talk business but an early morning phone call made it convenient to broach the matter with one of her wing governors.

"Well, now you're here," Karen continued in a more serious tone of voice. "I want to let you know that the go ahead has been given to recruit a limited number of prison officers. Area will be organizing it through the local paper and the Jobcentre." "I can't believe it, Karen. I thought those tight-fisted bastards in the Home Office were turning the screws on us, at the same time as expecting us to lock up more prisoners…..or am I missing something"  
The faintest smile curved the corners of the other woman's lips in reply and Nikki got the message. "How did you hear of this, Karen"  
"Neil phoned me just now to give me advance warning. He smuggled it through the budgets under Alison Warner's very nose. He knows how we're struggling for staff."

Not for the first time in Nikki's life, she immediately felt acutely embarrassed by her occasional tendency to launch into impulsive generalizations. "I'm sorry, Karen, for bad mouthing the one honest guy along with everyone else. I should have known better"  
"You're ninety per cent right, Nikki. Neil would say that himself"  
Nikki smiled fondly and warmly at this very remarkable man who had aided her own entry into her job and whose unique Machiavellian skills were deployed so protectively around them. She couldn't help thinking that while she was a club owner, her environment was virtually all female, and that her change of job had steered some strong male friends in her direction.  
"Well, tell us the news, Karen. How many new POs do we get"  
"Not as much as Neil would have liked. I've has a preliminary look at the needs of the wing as a whole and you get two more prison officers. You must know that all the other wings are similarly stretched. "  
Karen mentally noted favourably to herself that while the other woman's face fell, she accepted Karen's word that this was her fair share of what she had to offer. Another wing governor might have asked questions and pushed for more prison officers, pleading some spurious special case. Instead, Nikki lit a cigarette and thoughtfully contemplated how her rosters could be best helped. It wasn't much but it would ease the pressure.  
"What gets to me is how much the bloody politicians mouth on about being tough on crime and locking up criminals and when it comes down to it, they want the job done on the cheap. We don't exist in their world unless anything kicks off." "It's not all bad, Nikki. It's just the prison service. You'd better get used to it. It will take the heat off your staffing problems, especially during the summer. You found out all about that one, as soon as you started last year"  
Nikki fell silent, as her fingers let her cigarette end smoulder away by itself. Her frame of thinking drifted back to her past, when she was on the lookout of a barmaid at her club. It made her start to think of whom she wanted to see on her wing. In a flash of inspiration, Josh Mitchell jumped immediately into her mind.  
"I guess that the vacancies have got to be advertised openly, but does it stop us touting for custom?" "Plans are being made for the advert to go out in the local paper and Jobcentre as we speak. We can't pull strings directly to get someone into the job"  
"Does it stop us asking anyone we know who might be suitable to apply for the job"  
"Of course not……" Karen started to say automatically, until the penny dropped. She looked sharply at Nikki and could sense her train of thought.  
"You have someone in mind, Nikki. I can tell by the look on your face"  
"I know one guy who would be ideal for the job. He is just the sort of caring human being that we need"  
"….and his name is……" "Josh Mitchell." Pronounced Nikki confidently.

It was Karen's turn to fall silent. The name of Josh Mitchell had mixed memories for her. Karen had been much closer than Nikki to the events that had seen his unfortunate exit from Larkhall. Her mind was invaded by images of Crystal, proudly declaring that while she was pregnant, she was a virgin. She remembered Josh's initial keenness to be prison officer, when Di Barker of all people had put him up to it and also that he had cooled off fast, when Crystal had become pregnant. He could have stuck it out and have faced the consequences with a reprimand, but he had chosen to resign for no clear or good reason. She might be accused of being a bit old fashioned, but she was not keen on any prison officer who hadn't got staying power for the job.

"What's the problem, Karen?" Nikki enquired gently.  
"Aren't you jumping the gun a bit? Have you talked to him about the matter"  
"Well, no. Until you mentioned the vacancy I had no reason to." Admitted Nikki.  
"Exactly. You're assuming for a start that Josh wants to come back to the prison service. For all we know, he might be happy where he is"  
"The last I saw of him, he and Crystal could do with the extra money"  
"You know that that's nowhere near a good enough reason"  
"I know that but there's more to this one than you're letting on. For some reason, you have a problem with Josh coming back here." Nikki suggested gently.  
Karen sighed and told the story of what had happened to Josh last time. It was strange hearing of this fragment of the past through Karen's eyes as, for once, Helen hadn't been at the center of the matter and Nikki had had no eyes for the matter as she had her own fish to fry.

"One look at Josh and you can tell he's the faithful type. The only problem last time around was that he and Crystal were opposite sides of the bars. Things are different now and he's bound to be more settled. History doesn't have to repeat itself, Karen. What happened with Crystal won't happen with another inmate. There's no reason why it should"  
"Nikki, you are such a romantic with an impossibly positive view of life." Chided Karen.  
"Even after three years on the inside?" countered Nikki. "It's not that we're giving him the inside track to get the job. You never know, there are a limited number of places and there could be candidates that are better suited for the job than Josh somewhere out there"  
"You think that there are loads of people queuing up, who are also cut out for the job? They don't grow on trees. Think carefully, Nikki." Warned Karen.  
"Ok, let's agree that, if Josh is willing, he takes his chances in open competition. You can't say fairer than that"  
Karen reluctantly nodded in agreement. When she came to think of it, she might be overcompensating in being fearful in case bad experiences repeat themselves. 


	151. Chapter 151

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty One

It was finally Friday the seventeenth of March, St. Patrick's Day, and time for George's first session of chemotherapy. She had been dreading this day, knowing that it was a necessary part of her treatment, but dreading it nonetheless. Her session would take the whole of Friday afternoon, giving her the weekend in which to recover from it. George had been working from home for the last week or so, trying to take her return to her normal duties one step at a time. She still didn't feel entirely comfortable with the thought of returning to her office, even though to look at her, no one could honestly tell that one of her breasts was false. She was also still experiencing great lapses of mental as well as physical energy, something which she supposed would continue until all this was finally over. Jo was coming with her to the hospital during her lunch break, as neither her nor John wanted George to have to go there alone. John would come to pick her up at around five, and George was heartily grateful for their ongoing support. 

When they arrived at The Haddlington, they walked upstairs to the ward where George had stayed for those few interminable days. "I hate coming back here," George said quietly to Jo as they walked towards the nurses' station. "I know," Jo replied sympathetically. "But it's better than the NHS any day." George was forced to agree with this, knowing that if she'd had to share a room with anyone, she would have gone even more crazy than she already had. Tricia was there as usual, and she led them through to a room George hadn't seen before. "All that's really going to happen today," She explained. "Is that I'll connect you up to a drip, which contains a combination of drugs that will fight the remaining cancer cells left in your body. You're going to get very bored, so I hope you've brought something to read." "A fairly urgent case file as it happens," George replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Well, that wasn't quite what I had in mind," Tricia said ruefully. "And you might find that it becomes harder and harder to concentrate on something so dull and tedious." As she began to assemble everything she would need, Tricia added, "Ric will pop in to see you some time this afternoon, and I'll keep looking in just to make sure you're all right." "Just how dreadful am I going to feel after this?" George asked with some concern. "The most likely outcome," Tricia said, trying to soften the blow slightly. "Is that it'll make you very sick, but if it does, we can give you something to help with that." "Marvellous," George replied with a theatrical groan. "Just what I wanted at the end of a Friday afternoon." When Tricia had George all hooked up and had left her to it, Jo said that she would have to go. "I'm before our lord and master this afternoon, so I'd better not be late." "Oh well, if you do anything that should make him want to bang you up," George said with a smile, trying to cheer herself up if nothing else. "Tell him that he'll get no sex from me for a week." Jo grinned, briefly wondering if that threat would hold any significant weight with such a punishment. Putting her arms round George and kissing her gently, she said, "I'll see you later." "I'll look forward to it," George replied softly, meaning every word. 

When Jo left the room, she found that Ric and Zubin had joined Tricia at the desk, and were going over some patient files. "Jo," Zubin said with a smile. "It's good to see you." "I'll look in on George in a little while," Ric told her. "Though while I think about it, there is something that we need to discuss with you." "Of course," Jo said, glancing at her watch. "Though I do have to be back in court by two." "It shouldn't take long," Ric assured her. "It's about some of the medication George may need following her sessions of chemo." "Let me guess," Jo said in a manner of bleak remembrance. "Anti-sickness medication and possible pain relief, if it gets that far." "Let's not cross that particular bridge till we come to it," Ric told her quietly. "You sound as though you're talking from experience," Zubin said gently. "I nursed my husband through the final stages of cancer nearly twenty years ago," Jo told them succinctly. "So yes, I have been here before in a manner of speaking." "Well, it's about the anti-emetic that she may need to take if she finds it impossible to keep oral medication down, which believe me does happen. Either you or the Judge, needs to be able to administer an intra-muscular injection, should that become necessary, otherwise George will be forced to return to hospital, something I should imagine she would rather avoid." "Well, I have done that before," Jo told them. "Though not for some considerable time." "Would you be prepared to do it again?" Zubin asked, realising that this may resurrect some very painful memories for Jo. "If it will help George get through this, then yes, of course I will," Jo said with nothing but absolute certainty in her tone. "Then you must practice," Ric informed her. "Do you still do it on oranges?" Jo asked with a slight smile at the incongruity of such an act. "It's the best thing there is," Zubin said forthrightly. "An orange bears the closest resemblance to the tension of human skin." "Tricia, as Zubin and I are due in theatre at least five minutes ago, please could you make sure that Mrs. Mills can still adequately administer an injection?" "Leave it with me," Tricia replied, having until then been on the edge of the conversation. When Jo finally left to return to court a little while later, she knew without a doubt that should George require such a service from her, she would be more than capable of performing it. 

When John came to pick her up later that afternoon, George felt exhausted, sick, and wanted to do nothing more than to go home and go straight to bed. "How do you feel?" John asked her when Tricia showed him into the room. "Or is that a particularly stupid question?" "I'll forgive you for it just this once," George said tiredly. As John tucked her arm through his and led the way towards the outside, Tricia stopped them and handed John a bag of medication. "Everything you might need is in there," She informed George. "Including the injections you might find necessary and that we talked about earlier." When John raised his eyebrows at this, George said, "I'll explain it to you later." "The injections must be kept in the fridge," Tricia also told her. "Because they don't last for ever." 

When they reached the car park, George said, "I'm afraid that if you don't want me to throw up on the way home, I'm going to have to smoke in your car, which I know is against every principle you possess." "I'm sure I can open the window," he said, opening the passenger door for her and putting the bag of medications on her lap. When he'd started the engine and she had lit up a cigarette, she asked, "Would you mind if we went back to yours instead of mine? I feel as though I've seen far too much of that house in the last couple of weeks." "Sure," He said, turning out into the stream of Friday night traffic. "I'll call Jo and let her know." 


	152. Chapter 152

A/N: Credits to the BBC Website, and events personally authenticated by myself

Part One Hundred and Fifty Two

It took Nikki only until Saturday lunchtime to get over the hard work of the previous week. It helped of course that, outside, it was a bright day and the first spring buds were starting to appear. Unfortunately, fierce cold blasts of winter wind refused to let go its grip on the world outside, and so Nikki was confined to looking out to the back of their flat to what was there of the garden outside. At least the look of the weather and the lengthening days had the effect of cheering her up. It would not be too long before she would get the chance on a quiet weekend, to put her previous experience of Larkhall to good use. The main difference here was that the garden was hers, Helen freely confessing that plants had a habit of dying on her if they were left in her sole charge.

"You look cheerful, Nikki"  
"Ah well, it's the end of the week, and"  
"You know that Larkhall is in good hands." Put in Helen.  
Nikki smiled freely. That was precisely the case. With one exception, whichever prison officer was on the weekend shift could be trusted to act within limits and that, if Nikki were called upon to get involved, it would be for a good reason.  
"You know that it wasn't always that way, especially when half of them were only interested in covering their backs, not with acting for the best"  
"I know that I've got you, Karen and Neil to thank for that. "

The day had that hushed feeling, of all's right with the world. After the winter darkness, drab grey skies and periodic wind and drizzle, everywhere looked new painted. Both women fell silent as they drank in the feeling of peace. Minutes later, this was interrupted by the irritating blemish of a solitary helicopter clattering its way across the sky. On such a perfect day, it had no reason to be there when the rest of London was taking life easy.

"So you've finished all your reports"  
"All done and dusted and in Karen's hands. Mind you, I may have two more to do next year"  
Helen's raised enquiring eyebrows prompted Nikki to continue. She was obviously bursting with news, that she was dying to unload on Helen.  
"Karen's just told me that I'm getting two more prison officers"  
"I thought the prison service was clamping down tighter on staffing more than in my day. I would have been lucky to get an extra arm"  
"Neil has fixed it so that I get two out of the extra prison officers for all the wings in Larkhall"  
"You've got plans, Nikki. I can tell that a mile away." "I've got an idea for Josh to come back to the prison service. He'd be ideal"  
"Are you sure he'd be even interested, much less willing to go for the job"  
"Well, no," Nikki admitted. "But if I sounded him out, I'm sure he would go for it"  
"Why Josh?" Helen probed in a somber mood.  
"Why anyone? Because I want anyone who wants to come into the prison service to come in without having the jailer mentality. You know what mindset is like , getting their kicks from locking people up and throwing their weight around. There may be other good people coming in for the right reason, but at least if Josh applied, I know already that there's one with the right attitude"  
"You aren't going to get him the inside track?" Helen pursued.  
"Of course not." Snapped Nikki. "It's out of my hands. Area is running the recruitment board. The most that I can do is to steer him in the right direction"  
A little voice at the back of Nikki's mind told her that Helen wasn't just being cautious and careful, or even putting a damper on the proceedings, but there was more than met the eye. Nikki started to come down off her enthusiasm trip and felt in her bones that Helen wasn't in the best of spirits. "How are you getting on at work, Helen? You don't sound so cheerful." "Not so good, Nikki. I've been seeing John for the past five months and, for the first time, I'm doubting my own abilities to deal with a patient. I think I'm losing his plot." "As in the judge"  
"There is only one John, Nikki"  
"If you want to tell me about one of your patients, you must really feel up against it"  
"I am, Nikki." Helen sighed, "and I need to talk to you about him to work out where the hell to go next"  
Nikki looped her arm round Helen's shoulders and drew her to the sofa. She could feel the tension in the other woman's body.

"Well, for a start, he's highly intelligent as you know well enough." Began Helen.  
"Well, that's good. That means he must have some insight into himself"  
"If only life were so easy…… Inside his profession, he is scrupulously and rigorously controlled in his very word and deed. Even in his battles with his establishment, there is a controlled recklessness in him in doing the right thing. Instinct tells him just how far he can push his luck and, no matter how much hot water he ends up in, at the end of the day, he's a survivor." "That's the John I know." Pronounced Nikki in answer to Helen's tones of pride in him.  
"So what's the downside?" "The man has a divided soul. Basically, he has felt unloved ever since his adoptive mother committed suicide when he was ten. After that, his adoptive father withheld love from him…….."Helen continued in a more reflective tone, hesitating when she considered her own family background. How had she not spotted that before now, she wondered?" Because of this, he fears being deserted and being unloved by a woman in his adult life. The result is that he is a serial womanizer"  
Nikki's eyes opened wide. This was hard for her to get her head round, so grounded was she in her own identity.  
"Whatever he had done in his private life that he feels guilty for is guilty for, he basically feels that he has gone past the point of no return. Jo and George entered into a three-way relationship with him to keep him on the straight and level but for all that, he slept with Connie Beauchamp, not knowing that George had breast cancer. Can you imagine the impact of that on his personality already corroded by guilt"  
"But why does he do it?" Nikki exclaimed.  
"Why indeed? The only thing I can come up with is that he is addicted to sex as others might be to drink, or to drugs. Falling off the wagon only gives him that temporary lift in his spirits, that he is somehow worthwhile, yet are nowhere near the scale of the disaster that he brings down on himself when it comes out"  
"Does he know what he's letting himself in for"  
"Aside from not knowing about George's cancer, I am sure he knows every time but the nature of addiction is that he can't find it in himself not to give way, sooner or later."

This made Nikki's head swim. She paused for reflection and, with an effort of will, pulled herself together to focus in on the positives. "So what can you say he gets out of his close relationships? I mean in general"  
"I would say that of late, he is more and more capable of friendships with women, Karen, Yvonne, even me and you to some extent. I can't put my finger on it but it goes against the grain for the normal public school educated man, whose hallmark is male bonding. Then again, he doesn't fit into any mould, only his own"  
There was a slight smile on Helen's lips as she uttered those last words. The same remark fits Nikki to a T and was one reason why she was attracted to her.  
"So where do Jo and George fit into the picture"  
" George has her own cross to bear in her own guilt in not feeling naturally maternal to Charlie, while John by contrast was the perfect father. I am sure that while they have no illusions about him, they accept him for who he is within limits. They both love him deeply, despite the hurt that he has given them, but"  
Nikki's large brown eyes and raised eyebrows invited Helen to follow through the train of thought that had temporarily stalled. "I don't think that he can make their love real to himself."

There was a long silence as Nikki digested everything Helen had said. She had offered her words of wisdom down the years to distressed souls of all kinds, but this felt out of her league.

"I'd have to think this over as I can't think of easy answers. There's some sort of crisis coming on. Out of it, John may find the right direction. I hope so for his sake."

Helen put her arms round Nikki and held her. She didn't have any magic answer but she felt better for sharing her worries. Her intense sympathy for John was so like her. They lay back in the settee on a lazy Saturday afternoon, glorying in the brightness of the day.  
As usual, they put on Radio 5 which percolated its cultured influence into the flat. By contrast, the television only broadcast a mixture of sports, soaps and repeats. Suddenly, the soft tones of the radio broadcast prompted their attention.

"Thousands of anti-war protesters have turned out for a demonstration in central London, calling for UK troops to leave Iraq. Police put the number attending at 15,000, but organisers said between 80,000 and 100,000 were at the rally"  
As a backdrop to the radio announcer were the sounds of chanting voices, interwoven in formless chaotic carnival sounds. It was made up of thousands of human voices and was punctuated by sporadic outbursts of drumming. This sounded like life to them, and felt intensely familiar to Nikki through every pore of her skin. "Jesus." Nikki exclaimed. She looked out of the window, and by contrast their street was as quiet and as peaceful as any weekend permitted it to be. "Wait, Nikki"  
"Lindsey German, Convenor of Stop the War Coalition, said: 'We believe that a peaceful solution to the chaos, caused by the illegal war in Iraq will only be possible when the occupying foreign armies have all been removed, so that the Iraqi people will be free to decide on their own political future."

When the sounds trailed away and the next item took its place, their perfect world felt somehow incomplete. "That sounds reasonable enough." Commented Helen to the radio.  
"It must be on the five o clock news. I want to see more." Nikki answered as she reached for the TV remote control. Eagerly, they sat down in the settee. They were just in time. "Come on, come on." Nikki muttered impatiently as some incongruously supposedly important news item usurped the rightful place. "Wait a moment, there's the local news." Helen reassured Nikki.  
"Yeah, like thousands of demonstrators in the centre of London are only just fill in material, until the really important business of some mindless soap." Time ticked on with excruciating slowness, as the suntanned man without a hair out of place read from the autocue in front of him. Images of trivia played on as backdrop behind him to their disgust. Sure enough, the fanfare concluded the nation's briefing of all the news that was fit to hear.  
"Here it is, Nikki." Helen yelled.  
Amidst the irritating 'voice over', the camera's eye looked down on Trafalgar Square. The architectural austerity of Nelson's column was brightened by multicoloured banners of all descriptions, and the square was absolutely crowded out with masses of people. Nikki was fascinated by the passionate foursquare speech of the woman, speaking from somewhere in the crowd, until it was cut off by the sounds of a helicopter clattering away overhead. "Just forty five seconds?" questioned Nikki scornfully.  
"I can tell that you wish that you had been there"  
"I might have done if I'd known but how would I go into some crowded room and say, hi there, I'm Nikki Wade, I'm only wing governor of the local nick, lead me to the demonstration. Let's face it, I know I do a good job, but I don't get much street credibility out of it"  
"Do you need it, Nikki?" Pursued Helen softly. "I sense another cause coming on"  
"Living with you doesn't help me to not pursue causes"  
"Don't get me wrong, Nikki. I feel exactly the same as you. I've every reason to loathe the war as two of my recent patients have been discharged from the Army with severe psychological disturbance. I know that if it hadn't been for the war, they would never have needed to come anywhere near me. It's just that they have seen and done things over there that they can't live with themselves. They are the walking wounded, only you can't see their scars. I can see that my time will be cut out looking after them, and there will be more to come. My place now is to heal the individuals, and not fight the big causes. Let's face it, we haven't got much choice but stand on the sidelines on this one and silently cheer them on."

Nikki turned pale. This was another side of Helen's professional work that she hadn't known. She had more reason than ever to believe in Helen's sincerity, as this pencilled in tragedy was something that the impersonal news headlines never mentioned.

"You must know that you could be in a dangerous position if you were arrested. The Home Secretary stands at the top of the shit heap in the world where you work. This is the same Home Office that granted your appeal in the first place. You have to consider realities, and look after those who are in your charge and, through them, try and make a better world in the same way that the antiwar marchers are doing. As for myself, I've got a practice to keep going to heal the damaged souls, war victims included. Of course we are anti war. It's just that we aren't on the streets. That's all."

Nikki fell silent and her face clouded over. She knew that Helen's words made crystal sharp sense, every word of them. She just felt as if the best party had been arranged and she had somehow missed out on it. In the silence, the sounds of the helicopter invaded the peace of the evening with its discordant sounds. Now Nikki knew where and why it had come and gone. If she had only listened to the main news, she would have never known of the existence of the rally. Larkhall used to be like that in an inverted kind of way when she came to think of it, injustices and abuses behind locked doors. She fell silent while Helen clicked the TV off, its usefulness outgrown.

"Didn't you once say that John used to be a rebellious student in his younger days?" Nikki questioned, a random thought caught in passing before it could disappear.  
"I can remember him talking of when Charlie was involved in a sit in over the siting of mobile phone masts. He said that his own protests and sit in days were over"  
Nikki suddenly grinned. She could visualize a younger, even more reckless, headstrong man, much like herself. This was the reason why she related to him so much.  
"Not him, or you or me, Helen. We just do it our way." 


	153. Chapter 153

Part One Hundred and Fifty-Three 

Neil Haughton was eager with suppressed excitement, after receiving the phone call from the very anonymous but very powerful 'behind the scenes' political fixer. His behaviour was similar to the run up to a first date, even down to the febrile anticipation that his ultimate desires would be consummated. 

There was a distinct pecking order in the various ministerial jobs. Of course, Chancellor of the Exchequer was at the top of the pile and a training ground for the ultimate political prize itself, combining the power of the purse strings with the prestige of high public profile. That position was permanently occupied. The position in the Foreign Office carried a certain old style aristocratic grandeur except that it had never truly got over the fact that the Americans called the shots these days. At one time, the minister for Northern Ireland used to be a well-known political graveyard where the coffin was borne by two sets of bitterly hostile pallbearers, of virtually indistinguishable groups of Irishmen with absurdly long historical grudges against each other. Now that peace had broken out, it had dwindled down to being on a par with Minister for Wales. His own fiefdom in the Dept of Trade and Industry carried a nice line in modernizing flair, ideal for the go getting New Labour politician to exercise his mettle. It placed him in agreeable company with the 'movers and shakers' in industry, including his old friends in advertising. It provided a useful beachhead for further ministerial prizes to be acquired and now it was time to move on. It would mean that he would not have to worry about mobile phone masts as long as he lived, in terms of damaging his career of course. Besides, if any skeletons in the closet were rattling loudly enough to see the light of day, he would be long gone. He decided that he would be in real trouble if the job of Minister for the Department of Work and Pensions were dangled in front of him. The pale attractions of being tough on the idle and the feckless were more than counterbalanced by being in the position of spending the country's largesse on pampering the very kind of people that he and his cronies has sneered and jeered at. Besides, it stood to put him on bad terms with the Chancellor of the Exchequer almost by definition, hardly a career opportunity. What he really fancied was the Home Office. This was a job that was a nice step up in prestige and appealed to him personally. It gave him unlimited exercise of control, and meant that he could stamp his authority on all the groups that he had always had it in for, asylum seekers, terrorists and dangerous criminals of all kinds. It also made him effective overlord of the prison system and put him into a nice working partnership with the Lord Chancellor. Finally, it enabled him to expound on his views in the House of Commons and build himself up as the strong man in government. Smilingly folding the latest copy of 'The Times' under his arm, he climbed into the back of the ministerial limousine to be taken to the black ornate gates at the entrance to Downing Street. The policeman saw who was coming and escorted him past the ranks of reporters, questioning him about the latest rumours of the cabinet reshuffle. He strolled down that curiously misshapen road and turned right and was naturally given admittance. All at once, he was in the presence of his patron, the man to whom he owed his very existence, far more than the tame electorate who put him in parliament in the first place. They didn't count but He did.  
"Ah, Neil, I'm glad you could drop by so soon." Came those smooth relaxed tones. Neil shot a glance at him. The other man's smile was broad and his gleaming teeth were exposed but then again, that was no guarantee of good news.  
"As you know, you are one of my ministers who's future is under review in the forthcoming reshuffle." He said and stopped, offering him a glass of temperate mineral water. Neil drank a mouthful out of sheer nervousness.  
"On the whole, you have done an excellent job in the Department of Trade and Industry with only a few hiccups"  
Don't mention the mobile phone masts, the thought hammered away in his fevered brain. Perhaps consummation of his desires would not be so easy. "You know, PM, that I have done my best to instill some dynamism, some entrepreneurial spirit so that Our Country can prosper." Neil Houghton eagerly "The mobile phone episode wasn't the easiest to sell to the cabinet as one of our success stories. Honestly, I do understand your situation and I know that you are a hard-working guy, totally committed to the future of this nation"  
"Yes, yes, totally committed, day and night without stop." Houghton eagerly said, his head bobbing, like the toy bulldog in a car's back window. "…..so we'll put the matter of One Way behind us, won't we, Neil"  
'Yes, oh yes"  
The other man paused and fixed Neil with his unwinking stare. It seemed like he was on Houghton's side but he wasn't quite sure of this. The pause in the conversation ratcheted up the contrasting desire for power and also abject fear. His nightmare was of being cast into the outer darkness of the back benches, and minus his ministerial limousine and driver. It had happened to so many before him, to have to reel out of the door and mouth the same tired platitudes to the cynical press of 'desiring to spend more time with his family and his constituents'  
"You are about due for a move so I have in mind something of a challenge"  
Houghton's feelings divided between elation and fear. The fact that the other man's grin had not altered in a couple of minutes meant very little. His future was suspended in mid air. "Things aren't going on too well in the Home Office lately. We really haven't got a grip on immigration. No matter how many tough sounding statements are made, the Sun keep dragging up more scandals of illegals being hidden in the backs of juggernauts and popping up out of nowhere. When they are found, those dratted people seem to cling on and cause us endless trouble wherever they are. I'm sure they are behind all these terrorist conspiracies"  
"You can be sure that I'd sweep them out of England with my broom personally…..That is, if you would happen to give me the chance." Exclaimed Neil Houghton, his tones of bombast, suddenly becoming obsequious when he saw the other man's grin broaden and that indefinable worrying look in his blue eyes.  
"Then again, the house of lords are being far too obstructive for my liking. They have no concept of patriotic duty. I want solutions but every day I try and introduce legislation, they take some malicious pleasure when they find that not all the i's are dotted and all the t's crossed. They need to be brought into line"  
"I agree with every word you say." Houghton said fervently, trying on a little of the requisite sanctimonious earnestly sincere verbal delivery. He had to admit to himself that it sounded pretty plausible.  
"The post is a very responsible, high profile one and it will require considerable efforts not to seem too lackadaisical and half hearted. Our sympathetic press always take a very keen personal interest in the incumbent"  
It was on the tip of Houghton's tongue to ask if he meant the Guardian when he realized that it was the Sun that the PM was mostly concerned about. That cosy deal had suited both parties just nicely.  
"There were many promising candidates but, when I took everything into account, I decided that you are the correct person for the job"  
The PM's tones of voice suddenly slowed down to a funereal pace before putting Houghton out of his misery in a politically correct fashion, bearing in mind the increasing number of ambitious, non gender discriminated, female MPs who were coming to the fore. 

"I am absolutely thrilled at your expression of confidence in me. Believe me, I won't let you down." Houghton answered in a fervent, emotion choked voice. He couldn't believe what had happened to him and didn't seem quite real for a moment as the passions of satisfied emotions radiated through him. Suddenly, he felt like a bigger man than before. "That wouldn't be a good idea…….. " the other man answered is a fractionally colder voice than before. The blast of icy air disappeared as he continuing in intimate tones that begged Houghton to conjoin with the PM's visions. "I want you to be one of my right hand men. You know the state of the party these days. All those unreconstructed left wing intellectuals are coming out of the closet now that things are getting a bit sticky. I need someone who is personally loyal to me. They are becoming more treacherous and dangerous every day. I sometimes think that they've got it in for me personally. Don't they remember that it was I that rallied them, that inspired them when we were wallowing in a state of confused backwardness"  
Houghton's sympathies rallied to the pained expression on the other man's face. It seemed that the PM was sitting on a branch and everyone was trying to saw the branch off that would finally drop him and the Party into ruination and election defeat.

A little while later, a clean cut press aide was busy drafting Neil Houghton's statement to the press. This was scheduled to be released in twelve days time when all the other ministers had been advised of their fate. Everything was signed and sealed behind closed doors, both promotions and demotions. He then looked out the press contacts to plant the first authorized press leak of 'sources close to Downing Street' so as to soften up public opinion in advance. It was how news was managed these days. "I have been offered the position of Home Secretary. Naturally, this has come as a complete surprise to me but I will rise to the occasion and endeavour to show strength and resolution. I want to ensure that hard working people everywhere can sleep in their beds, feeling safe at night."

Neil Houghton slipped quietly through the metal gates tight lipped and solemn faced. However, in the security of his limousine, an evil smile split his face as he realized that he was in a strong position to put one over Deed and make him regret the day he had so impudently belittled him in public as the former Mr. George Channing. 


	154. Chapter 154

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty Four

In the few weeks that Kay had been back in America, her thoughts had drifted several times to George and how she was getting on. She, Marino, Benton and Lucy had been caught up trying to drag the latest serial killer out into the open, finally succeeding in what was for her, a terrifying battle of wills with someone who resented her very existence and who was prepared to do anything to see her off this planet for good. But she was finally under lock and key, awaiting her trial, and the world was now just a little safer than it had been. But all this hadn't prevented Kay from intermittently worrying about her new friend. She had ordered some flowers to be sent to George whilst she was in hospital, and they had exchanged the occasional e-mail since George had returned home, but Kay couldn't help feeling a little guilty that she hadn't actually phoned her. Was this a little protection tactic, designed to keep her emotionally safe from becoming too entangled with someone who may soon leave this world for good? If it was, it was pathetic, she told herself sternly. She counted George as a friend, and friends did not under any circumstances treat each other like this, no matter how big an ocean might be between them. 

Only two more days, she thought as she sat in her office in downtown Richmond, and it would be the beginning of April. Just where had the first three months of this year gone? She had hardly seen anything of Benton, but then what else was new, Marino being her companion on far more of a regular basis than her actual lover. It was around six on the Wednesday evening, and she was mindlessly collecting together all the forensic reports and evidence ready for her meeting with the commonwealth's attorney tomorrow morning, not an interview she was in any way looking forward to. When she heard the familiar, heavy-booted tread down the carpeted passage to her office, she couldn't help but smile. He always did this, she thought, Marino always turned up to drag her away from work when she was finding it less than enthralling to say the least. He didn't bother to knock on her open door, but strolled right in, dropping into one of her visitors' chairs without a by your leave. "Can't you leave this joint for just one night?" He asked tiredly, running a hand over his rumpled face. "I'm open to persuasion," She replied, not looking up as she sorted through autopsy photographs and body diagrams before placing them in order in the ever thickening case file. "I figured you could probably do with a break," he said, being a lot more tactful than usual, because only he had really taken notice of just how much the recent case had gotten to her. "I'm not about to disagree with you," She said, finally closing the file and locking it away in her desk. "One shot of Black bush and I could sleep for a week." "Yeah, and with the kind of dreams that could make you one of Benton's patients for a month," Marino replied knowingly. "You're being particularly intuitive this evening," She said with a slight smile. "What's wrong with you?" "I don't always act like a red neck, Doc," He said, sounding a little hurt. "I know," She replied, now apologetic. "Come on," He said, getting to his feet and holding out her jacket for her to put on. "All the stiffs you got downstairs, they ain't going anywhere, and will all still be here tomorrow." "Now that's something I certainly don't need," She said, getting up from her desk and slipping her arms into her cream suit jacket. "for one of the bodies in the fridge to get up and walk out of here without my consent." "As if they'd dare even try," Marino said with a grin. "I suppose you'd like me to cook," She said as she locked her office and they began walking towards the outside. "I could always treat you to a pizza," he suggested, knowing that this was the precise way to persuade her to cook something from scratch. "Absolutely not," She said in total disgust. "I refuse to have one of those things anywhere near my kitchen. Anyway, cooking might just help me to relax." 

When they reached Kay's beautifully proportioned house in the gated neighbourhood where she had lived for the past ten years, Marino pulled his car up behind hers and followed her inside. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to bore you to death by playing some classical music," She said, walking into the lounge and towards her stereo that she didn't get to listen to half as much as she would have liked. "So what else is new?" He quipped mildly, having long ago gotten used to her slightly eclectic tastes. "Actually, there's something I would like you to listen to," She said, getting an idea that she simply couldn't resist. "You know the barrister I stayed with when I was over in England? She and several others took part in a performance of Haydn's 'Creation.' George made me a copy of the recording of it while I was there." "Are you trying to educate me again?" Marino asked suspiciously. "I would prefer you to regard it as an enlightening experience, rather than one of my rather persistent efforts to improve your appreciation of various forms of culture," She replied with a smile, removing the CD from the rack and placing it in the CD-player. "Doc, you know that classical is far more Benton's thing than it is mine," He said, her continued efforts notwithstanding. "I'm just trying to broaden your horizons, that's all," She tried to persuade him. "Yeah?" He replied disbelievingly. "Just like the time you took me to see that play, what was it called?" "Hamlet," She said, a little disgusted that he had forgotten such a renowned piece of Shakespeare so easily. 

As the introductory chords began, she poured them both a Scotch on the rocks, automatically making his drink just the way he liked it, after many years of experience. They sat at the kitchen table, with the music playing in the lounge, and for the first time in weeks, Kay finally began to relax. They had both lit up cigarettes, and Marino couldn't help noticing that she absent-mindedly flicked her ash in time to the music. "Come on then," Marino said, finally breaking the silence between them as she stood up to begin preparing their dinner. "Just who took part in this?" "Barristers, judges, a prison governor, anyone from the legal profession who could be persuaded. George took the part of the female soloist, and she has a voice to die for. Why, are you perhaps the slightest bit curious?" "Just showing a polite interest," He replied, avoiding her eyes. Kay laughed, the thought of Marino showing a polite anything wholly alien to her. Removing some rich, Italian sausage from the refrigerator, she began slicing it very thinly and evenly, Marino watching the movement of her graceful hands in appreciation. "You know something," Marino said speculatively. "Whether you're holding a carving knife or a scalpel, you make it look like an art, not just a skill." Turning to look over at him, Kay just stared. She was incredibly touched by what he'd just said, and her eyes briefly misted over. "Thank you," She said quietly. "I think that's one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard you say." "It's true," He insisted. "I wonder sometimes why you didn't take up an instrument." "I never really had the time," she said, putting the pieces of Italian sausage in to slowly fry as she wiped the board clean, and began chopping onions, mushrooms and other vegetables to go into the pan. "They might not do this for a day job," Marino said after a while. "But they're fucking good. I wouldn't know the difference between this and the real thing." "Marino, they are the real thing," Kay insisted, retrieving some egg noodles from the cupboard and putting them onto boil. "The only difference is that they chose not to make money from their talents. It doesn't mean that they're any less skilled at what they do. It's something they all did partly for pleasure, and partly as the bar council's idea of a team building exercise." "Kinda like me playing my guitar on the very rare occasions I get the chance," Marino said with a self-deprecating smile. "Yes, something I wish you would let me hear," Kay replied with a smile of her own. Marino had always refused to showcase his talent to her, turning instantly bashful if she ever suggested it. "I will persuade you to let me hear you one day, you know," She promised him. "In your dreams," Marino said firmly. 

When 'The Lord is Great' began in all it's glory, Kay picked up the nearest knife that lay on the chopping board, and began conducting with it, the blade whistling through the air with all the precision of one who did such a thing for a profession. "Now that really does make you look dangerous," Marino said as he watched her, seeing the love for what she was hearing shining out of her eyes. Kay didn't answer him, simply continuing to conduct to the very end of the chorus. "That's almost better than a treble Scotch on the rocks," She said into the resulting silence. "George," Marino said thoughtfully, having just listened to her reaching the top B-flat. "I bet she doesn't smoke." "Oh, yes she does," Kay said with a laugh. "Almost as much as you do. God, I really wish I'd been able to see this live. The next thing they do, I'm definitely going over for it, I don't care what it takes." "You know, you never did tell me much about what happened while you were over there." Marino's comment was innocuous enough, but as Kay changed the CD for the second one, she wondered what she should tell him. "Well, one thing that will surprise you," She said, trying to avoid the feelings of worry over George that threatened to swamp her. "I wore my gun to court, and got, well, caught." "No shit," Marino said in astonishment. "Doc, no offence, but that sounds like something I would do." "Yes, yes, I know, very, very stupid," She replied with a shrug. "But I just forgot. I'm used to having my gun somewhere on me all the time in court over here, and seeing as I had permission to have my gun in the UK, I didn't see any problem with taking it into court like I always do." "And how did the judge react to that?" "I was summoned to his chambers after the adjournment, to explain myself." "What a bastard," Marino said disgustedly. "Actually, he was very nice about it once I'd explained the situation," Kay told him fairly. "For a judge, he was a pretty nice guy really." "Don't let Benton hear you say that," Marino said with a shrug. "If Benton can get so jealous over such a trifle," Kay said a little waspishly. "Then perhaps he ought to spend more time with me than he currently does." "Doc, I don't want to hear it," Marino warned her. "You know what I think of you and Benton, so leave me out of it." 

They didn't talk for a little while, simply allowing the music to wash over them. Marino would never tell her this, but he was forced to admit to himself that it was beautiful. It certainly wasn't something he would ordinarily listen to out of choice, but he couldn't deny their clear, unadulterated talent. "So, how was sharing a house with someone for two weeks?" He asked after some time had passed. "Let's face it, you like your solitude." "It was somewhat enlightening," She said, spooning the noodles, meat and vegetables onto two heated up plates. "I made a new friend in George, something I certainly didn't expect to do." Taking note of the sad expression that crossed her face at George's name, Marino said, "There's something you're not telling me. You've been very maudlin since you got back from England." "Are you surprised, what with the case we've been dealing with?" She replied caustically, though knowing that he was right. "No," He said mildly. "You're just usually better at hiding it, that's all." "George has breast cancer," Kay told him simply. "And I suppose it's just getting to me that I might be about to lose a friend whom I've only just begun to get to know, and I feel a little guilty that I haven't actually spoken to her since I came back." "Can I make a suggestion?" Marino asked carefully. "When you go over to Ireland in a few weeks' time, take a little detour through London and go and see her." Kay's face instantly brightened. "You know something, Marino, that's the best idea you've had in a long time. With everything that's been going on recently, that simply hadn't occurred to me." As they ate their meal and took comfort from each other's friendship, Kay found herself briefly wondering just what she would ever do without him. Marino for all his faults, usually managed to keep her on the straight and narrow, never allowing her to work too hard when he could persuade her out of the office, and always providing her with a certain amount of much needed perspective. She would go and see George, come hell or high water she would do it. 


	155. Chapter 155

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty Five

As Neil Grayling pulled into the car park of the Old Bailey, he wondered precisely what he was doing here. Sure, the information that he had to impart was certainly necessary, but why was he doing it? The answer came to him as he pushed open the heavy swing doors and walked into the tiled foyer. During the lead up to the performance of 'The Creation' last year, he had made a number of new friends, George and John being just two of them. He could all too clearly remember the days when he had passed information to the likes of Sir Ian Rochester, memories that made him squirm with mortification. But now here he was, thankfully taking what he had learnt to the right side for a change. Neil occasionally marvelled at how much he had altered over the last couple of years, and definitely for the better. 

He didn't have the first idea of where to begin looking for the Judge, so he asked a passing clerk, who turned out to be Mrs. Cooper, John Deed's clerk. "If possible," He said once ascertaining who she was. "I would like a few words with Mr. Justice Deed." "May I have your name?" Coope asked, leading the way towards the stairs. "Neil Grayling," he told her. 

John was more than a little surprised when Coope told him just who was here to see him, and he asked Coope to show Neil in with rising curiosity. "Neil," He said when he appeared. "This is an unexpected surprise." "I have recently become aware of something that I thought you would wish to know," Neil said as Coope retreated, closing the door behind her. "Would you like some coffee?" John asked, gesturing to the steaming pot on the table. "Please," Neil replied as he sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs. Once John had poured them both a cup of the fortifying liquid and taken the chair opposite Neil, he said, "So, what have you to tell me?" Taking a grateful swig of the coffee, Neil began to explain. 

"My immediate superior, Alison Warner, called an unexpected meeting this morning, saying that she had something particularly important to tell us. It seems that we are to get a new Home Secretary, something that, because of who it is, will no doubt impact on the judiciary as well as the prison service." "I don't like where my thoughts are taking me," John said with an expression of approaching gloom. "No, you shouldn't," Neil replied with a sardonic smile. "It's Neil Haughton." Had John not been in someone else's company, he would very likely have sworn violently at this revelation. "How on earth did he manage that?" he asked in utter disgust. "I've no idea," Neil said darkly. "But I would suspect that he now owes a particularly large favour to someone." "That is all I need," John said bitterly. "For Lover boy to start sticking his nose into things that don't concern him." Neil raised his eyebrows at John's angrily thrown out accolade. "It's a name I gave him when he began sleeping with George," John explained. "And it somehow seemed to stick." "George told me what happened with him," Neil said quietly, remembering that day, just before their performance of 'The Creation', when George had told him precisely why she didn't want Neil Haughton anywhere in the audience. "Yes," John said in bitter contemplation. "Jo had to physically prevent me from beating him to a pulp for doing that to George. He's nothing more than a dishonest, greedy thug, but then I suppose that could be said for too many of the current government." "What is his appointment likely to mean for the prison service?" Neil asked. "Lower budgets, tougher sentences, even less consideration of the conditions that prison inmates are forced to endure, possibly job cuts on the ground, and more and more red tape as he thinks up government and media friendly policies that haven't got a cat in hell's chance of working in practice." "All sweetness and light, then," Neil said disgustedly. "And be warned," John continued. "He will personally hand pick those within the service who will be working for him first, and the service second. Neil Haughton is as corrupt as they come, and your job is about to become as fraught with internal and external politics as mine will undoubtedly be. When is his appointment to be announced?" "April the first," Neil informed him. "Which is probably why Alison Warner left it till now to let us know as to the identity of our new boss, so that there are only two days for anyone to leak the story." "That's a very bad April fool if it is one," John said sarcastically. "It would be distasteful in the extreme," Neil agreed with him. "But I don't somehow think we're about to be quite that lucky." "I wonder what he's promised in order to secure this new position," John speculated thoughtfully. "Because he royally failed with the Department for Trade and Industry, One Way PLC being the case in point." "I'm sure we'll find out in due course," Neil replied darkly, wondering just how much harder his job was about to become. 


	156. Chapter 156

Part One Hundred and Fifty Six

John was up earlier than normal on a Saturday morning, and took his way to a nearby newsagent. He walked with a slow leaden tread, as he knew the bad news that there was waiting for him yet duty forced him to see the worst. This was the day when the news would break of the appointment of the new Commissar for Home Affairs. Certainly Mimi was far keener on the early morning Saturday walk than her master and she pulled strongly at her lead to hurry him up.

Flicking through the newsstands, the sight of them hurt his eyes. Sure enough, the Sun that trashy and viciously right wing paper screamed its approval of the dreadful news.

"Neil sweeps clean." It said in large block capitals. Furtively, John scanned the front page. He felt more embarrassed in even glancing at the rag than if it were an adult magazine. At least it was honest." Illegal immigrants, dangerous criminals had better beware. There is a prison cell awaiting for each and every one of you." As expected, what there was of the article carried onto page 2 and, flicking a casual gaze at the nubile woman posing on the opposite page, he slid the paper into the rack. There was nothing there that he hadn't seen before, he reflected in lordly disdain.

He picked out the Times as more up market but as supportive of the government. It was more likely to fill in the blanks that he needed to see. A key phrase caught his eye as he ran his eye over the article.

"This country demands that those guilty of crimes are banged to rights. I have no time for fuzzy minded liberals, wherever they are, whose sympathies are more for the criminals than the victims of crime. The permissive society and those who have encouraged it has been partly responsible for half the crime on our streets. I shall sweep away the obstacles of outdated bureaucracy to secure a zero tolerance attitude to crime. Institutions of law and order need to be modernized, to be dragged into the twenty first century quite as much as the welfare state."

"That means us." John murmured. This was an open declaration of war against him, first and foremost but it boded no good news either for Joe Channing, Neil Grayling, George, Jo and ultimately Karen and Nikki. He paid for the paper, rolled it under his arm and chose to take a longer walk than was normal. Mimi was overjoyed that the human who was her master went away from his accustomed path. It suited John as well, as he needed that fresh air to clear his head.

When John returned to his flat, he switched on the TV. He stuck only a couple of minutes of it to switch it off. If only Houghton could be switched off as easily as his image on the screen, he groaned inwardly, seeing that self satisfied political nobody spout forth. The man struck him as even more obnoxious on the screen than when he had seen him last, possibly because the sycophantic interviewer fawned on him, instead of challenging him as he had done on many an occasion.

It took half an hour of lying on the settee, listening to a classical CD until duty called on him to reach for the phone to call George.  
"John. This is a welcome surprise." That very aristocratic drawl greeted him as he nervously phoned her. He wasn't sure if George would have heard the news and so he had to be prepared either way. By the sound of her cheerful mood, she definitely hadn't. "I just thought I'd phone you up on the off chance, just to see how you're getting on." "Darling, nothing you ever do in life is ever on the off chance"  
"It's just that I've been very busy and not seen you awhile. I've been very remiss in not asking how you're going on"  
"Well, thank heaven, I'm back in the comfort of my own home and getting down to some work as best as I can. I'm even getting used to getting dressed in the morning so long as I don't look too closely." "I'm so very glad about that." John said fervently.  
It was now that she thought there was something odd about John's manner, and she chose to pursue the first obvious possibility. "Have you done anything in the last week that is very reckless and foolhardy, even by your standards?" George asked in razor sharp inquisitive tones.  
"No no, George. I am completely and totally innocent this time"  
"Then what is it"  
The irritated tone in George's voice signalled to John that he should let her have the bad news straight.  
"George, I think you ought to sit down before I tell you why I'm really phoning you. Don't argue with me, just do it." Somehow he sensed that she had obeyed that urgent tone in his voice.  
"There's no easy way to tell you. The news has broken that there's been a cabinet reshuffle and Houghton is the new Home Secretary"  
"Is this supposed to be an April fool, John?" George said at last. She wondered if her own hearing was also playing her similar tricks.  
"I don't think that the government, the BBC, the Sun and the Times are joking, George. I really wish that they were"  
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, but John deduced that, as the line was still connected, George was still holding the phone and was still upright.  
"But they can't, they mustn't…….That man is the most idiotic choice of Home Secretary you could possibly hope to find"  
"No doubt that is the reason they choose him. I mean, it makes no sense by their standards to pick a capable candidate." Came John's dry reply. "He'll be positively drooling at the thought of all that power. Let's face it, there isn't anything else that gets him going as far as I can remember"  
"Well, that sounds par for the course"  
The phone line fell silent again, as the full implications started to crowd into George's fevered mind.  
"This just makes me feel ill." George's slightly shaky voice responded." It puts him far too close to my orbit. As far as I'm concerned, he can go ahead with his grubby little money making schemes to massage his pathetic ego, but I just want to let him go his way and I'll go mine." "No such luck for all of us. I've just read the papers. He's the authentic Hanging Judge and he feels that there are too many liberals gumming up the wheels of justice." "No, no, no, John. I mean personally. I quite see that he will stick his ill informed nose into things of which he is totally ignorant, but there's more to it than that. I just don't want him anywhere near my life"  
"It's on the news, George if you wish to watch it"  
"No fear. I can imagine what he'll say and that's enough for me. You promise me one thing, John. You must resist the temptation to punch him on the nose or I'll never forgive you. Right now, I'm going to lie down in a darkened room for an hour"  
John knew what lay behind her domineering style. This was her way of expressing her desire to protect him, and was her way of dealing with the situation."

John held the phone in his hand and dialed Joe Channing. His role as the bearer of bad news was getting to be a familiar experience.

"Ah John, I was going to phone you but you beat me to it. I've just picked up the Telegraph and I couldn't believe what I've read. The fools, the imbeciles in letting such a weasel like him in charge of the Home Office. They must want their brains examining."

John was immensely relieved that Joe had gone for his constitutional and for his long established habit in immersing himself in the paper on a Saturday morning. He had phoned up, just at the point when the other man's incandescent rage has subsided to manageable proportions.  
"I get the feeling that the government have got us in their sights. It's not just the matter any more of crossing swords with the Attorney General and small fry like Sir Ian and Lawrence James." John said calmly.  
"They might as well have nominated Genghis Khan for a posthumous award for the Nobel Peace prize" Joe rumbled on loudly.  
"We're all in for a rough ride from what the papers are saying."

There was a long pause as Joe's sharp mind was closely studying John's manner. It was John who had pitilessly dissected Houghton's many character shortcomings long before he and George has seen through the bounder. While he was letting rip and cursing the man with every expression that came to hand, John was being the calm, philosophical one. It was almost as if John had had longer time to digest the full implications. A light dawned in his mind as he revised his original statement and concluded that John definitely had been tipped off in advance. "You seem pretty cool and calm about the matter. Have you had advance information on this?" Joe could almost hear John faintly smile down the line at him. "Let's say that we live in an age when the apparatchiks have their network of spies, informants and petty agents to do their dirty work. I cannot continue to play the rules of cricket in not having friends in a wide walk of life who can give me advance warning. I was told of this on Thursday, and got my anger and rage out of the system by kicking the waste bin round my chambers, and imagining that it was Houghton's head"  
John could hear Joe's chuckle of laughter down the line. There was something about John's cool and calm frame of mind that steadied his own impetuous, fiery nature.  
"At least we can talk freely on the phone. You never know, he'll add us to the list of dangerous subversives and have our phones tapped. I'll be first on the list." John joked lightly.  
"Good God, it had better not come to that. This is Britain, the land of traditional freedoms." "While we have them." Came Joe's laconic reply.  
There was another pause while Joe digested this possibility. John wasn't being as witty as he thought he was. "Have you talked to anyone else about this, John"  
"I told George of this. I'm not sure if she took it particularly well." John said doubtfully. "I shall go over to George and visit her. She needs cheering up." Joe promptly decided. Both men knew that this was Joe's way of repaying the way that John had performed so nobly in breaking the news of George's cancer. Besides, he grinned impishly to himself, the news about that frightful man had brought out a stubborn, combative streak in him. He may be getting old but his brain was as sharp as ever and, besides, there was nothing he liked better than a good fight. 


	157. Chapter 157

Part One Hundred and Fifty Seven

Nikki called round late at night after a hard day's work, and knocked on the front door of Josh and Crystal's modest house. She felt a little guilty that she had not called earlier. She valued her friendships, and hated to neglect them no matter how busy she might be. Still, she was here now even if she did have an ulterior motive.

"Hey, Nikki. Come in, sister. We ain't seen you for months." Crystal greeted her with a wide smile of friendship. Instantly, she turned to grab at a very mobile Daniel who was all set to shoot out of the door. Nikki found herself almost propelled through onto the sofa when a very intense Zandra grabbed Nikki's attention to show her a little story that she had written in her very large, rounded script. Nikki focussed her mind and let herself be immersed in Zandra's child like perspective and it fascinated her. All her life, Nikki had had an enquiring mind and she had been brought up in a world of books, and the written world was sacred to her. The little girl was noticeably taller and more developed than when she and Helen had been round, last May. The experience resonated with Nikki as it told her the point in life where the love of the written word starts to flower. It had happened to her many years ago. She was touched at the innocence in the little girl's eyes and was drawn into her world.  
"Sorry I haven't called earlier." Nikki replied, virtually out of the corner of her mouth to the other woman, whose voice spoke out of her range of vision.  
"Well, you're here now, Nikki. Want a drink?" "I'd love one." Nikki crouched forward, splitting her concentration between all concerned and making idle chitchat. The evening carried on in this disjointed fashion, until Crystal indicated that both children were ready for bed. Nikki lay back in the armchair, while she stayed out of the way from the family routine. She noticed that this time, she felt fresher and sharper than when she was here last time. Eventually, Crystal and Josh padded down the stairs and they were able to talk.  
"You're right. I did have a reason to call round. I didn't come round just for a casual chat. I was wondering, Josh if you were happy in your job or if you fancied a change"  
"It ain't so good," Josh answered wearily." I don't know how long they'll keep me, on the way things are going"  
"What's the problem"  
"Not with me. Just the firm. Some of my mates have been laid off already"  
"They treat Josh like a slave. He has to work weekends at that sweatshop, and we're still struggling on the wages." Put in Crystal to Josh's embarrassment at bringing their closed in worries out into the open. "There ain't no choice." Butted in Josh." I ain't going to win the national lottery." Already his eyelids were being dragged down by the accumulated tiredness. "You're looking better, Nikki. Last time we saw you round here, you were going after Helen's old job at Larkhall"  
Was it that long ago that she had started her job, Nikki thought in a confused fashion? She could remember that she felt like Josh looked right now. Of course, she had been working those stupid hours in the evenings and they had worn her out. She still remembered that perpetually tired feeling round her eyes. 'Yeah, that's right. I remember asking you what the prison officer training course was like." "So how does it feel to have all that power, sister? You had better be doing right"  
"Surprisingly enough, pretty good. It's not like it used to be. Fenner's gone before I came back and Di Barker's been recently given the push, Sylvia's the only trouble and she can't do any damage on her own"  
Both Josh and Crystal opened their eyes wide. Their memories of Larkhall were about four years old. They both sensed that Nikki's brief account had only scratched the surface.  
"Sylvia as in Bodybag." Crystal said incredulously.  
'That's a small price I had to pay to call her that." Came Nikki's embarrassed laugh." I can't make her a laughing stock in front of everyone"  
"She don't need to. She'll do it to herself." "At least she hasn't got anyone to moan to anymore, and she hasn't got anyone not so stupid as her and devious enough to get up to any dirty tricks. I can handle her. As for the rest of the job, I manage to be all things to everyone and still be myself"  
"You'll never change, not you……." Crystal said fondly, memories drawing her back in time. "So what's with Josh? You've got something to ask him, haven't you?" questioned Crystal sharply.  
Nikki swallowed nervously and paused before she spoke. She had waffled her way round the subject quite long enough.  
"Everything's pretty good right now, except that I'm been short staffed. You might not know it but that makes it hard to fix up for prisoners to get what they need, education classes, visiting days, association, you name it, you need a prison officer for it. The PO's who work for me are a good bunch and they'll swap their shifts around if it will help everyone out. Like I say, it's not as it used to be"  
"So what are you getting at, Nikki"  
"There are openings for two prison officers coming up and, I wanted to sound you out to ask if you are interested. I don't want anyone conning through the interview panel who's fancies locking up prisoners for the sake of it, not after all the trouble G wing have had over the years"  
Nikki did her best with her determined tones and heartfelt sincerity and it flattered Josh , but old associations made him feel that he was not up to the mark.  
"And you think Miss Betts would let me back? Not after last time"  
"No, no," Nikki started to explain."I talked about Karen about it, and you can take it from me that it won't go against you. Believe me, Josh, you'll get a fair crack of the whip at the interview. Karen gave me a definite promise on that." "So do I just fill in an application form and wait to hear like what Di Barker did for me last time?" Josh eventually asked with a puzzled expression on his face, being very wary of what he was letting himself in for.  
"Is that how you did it then?" counter questioned Nikki. She had thought that at least things like that were done."I don't know how she got away with that. It sounds the sort of thing that I would have done when I needed to take on another barmaid in my club days. It has to go by the book and there's a proper interview………." Nikki started to say. Josh's face fell at this bit of news. Nikki realised that in her eagerness to express how things would go by the book, she had unknowingly exposed his weak point.  
"I ain't got a chance. I mess up at interviews." "The good news is that the whole wing are taking on extra prison officers. With more people wanted, that means you have a much better chance at getting in. It might feel a long time ago, but you'll know the job when you get half a chance to do it. Crystal might help you to prepare for the interview"  
Nikki turned her face in Crystal's direction and Crystal mouthed 'yes' while Nikki was talking. Crystal's interest was grabbed immediately. Josh was silent, his forehead covered with wrinkles. He had settled down to years of drudgery at the factory and it made him feel uncertain that there was an option. He had accustomed himself to a life of endless drudgery, if it meant bringing up a family.  
"OK, so who's on your wing that I might know"  
"There's Gina for a start. She's rock solid and she covers for me when I'm off. In fact, she'll look after any new PO that's new and uncertain. If you don't piss her about, then she'll see you all right. Then there's Dominic"  
"Oh great, has he come back to Larkhall? You remember him, Josh and everything he did for Zandra. There wasn't any other screw, I mean prison officer, that was dead kind like him. It is the same Dominic"  
"The very same Dominic"  
"You got nothing to lose, Josh. I'll help you. Why wait till to get pushed out of your job? "And of course there's me." Nikki murmured modestly.  
"Oh yeah," Crystal exclaimed, with a look of dawning surprise and pleasure spreading over her face." In that case, you have to apply, Josh. You'll get paid better, a job that I know that you can do, some weekends together with the kids, everything we dreamed of." "You only have to do one Saturday or Sunday on every four at the most." Added Nikki rapidly.  
"OK, OK." Josh surrendered as two determined women bulldozed him into agreeing. His head was swimming at what had walked through the door. His memory of Larkhall was one of a very dangerous place that was nothing but trouble. He supposed that it must be all right as Nikki had got back there. In fact she hadn't just survived but she looked so well. After all, he shrugged his shoulders, she was dead brainy and sounded as if she knew what she was talking about. He had nothing to lose anyway.

"You don't have to thank me for getting you this job." Nikki protested , as Crystal thanked Nikki profusely for being a miracle worker with their family."It was Neil Grayling who fixed up these vacancies. All I've done is to just let you know about them."

She felt strongly that this chance of a better future for Crystal and Josh and their growing children was only a demonstration in flesh and blood, of Neil's courage and ingenuity in creating the jobs in the first place. Just for that moment, the prison service was releasing its hard grip on those who worked for it. 


	158. Chapter 158

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty Eight

When John arrived at the clinic for his session with Helen on the Tuesday evening, he found himself wondering just how long he would go on seeing her. He knew that these sessions were undoubtedly doing him good, but what would happen when Helen finally managed to break down the barriers that had been constructed over the last forty odd years. He was under no illusions that this would one day happen, because Helen was far too skilled at her job to allow him to dissuade her from such a course of action. She would keep chipping away at his psyche just as she had been doing all these months, and one day she would remove the most heavily guarded section of all his mental and emotional armour. 

"You're looking better than you did when I last saw you," Helen observed as he took his usual chair opposite to her. "Things are, a little more settled," He said evasively, wondering whether or not this really was the word to describe everything that was currently happening. "I'm not sure if you remember," John continued. "But you once suggested that I should talk to George about a lot of the unresolved issues surrounding our marriage." "I remember saying something to that effect," Helen agreed with him. "Why?" "I did," He told her simply. "The day after she came out of hospital. I wouldn't have raised such an emotionally volatile issue at that time, but George had a pretty bad argument with Charlie, which seemed to bring a lot of things to the fore." "Does she often argue with Charlie?" Helen asked. "No, they usually remain in something of a stalemate, but when they do argue, it's almost always bad. Charlie still can't forgive George for not being the mother she always wanted. If you think I hold a lot of guilt about my marriage to George, George herself holds even more." "I can imagine," Helen said ruefully. "Well, I finally took the opportunity to apologise for some of the things I said and did during that time, as did George." "Good," Helen replied with a soft smile. "It doesn't mean that the guilt is gone, from either of us, but we've begun being a little more honest with each other, which is perhaps a start." "Honesty is always a good start, Judge," Helen said quietly. "It's a very valuable lesson that we all have to learn eventually," She added, thinking of the initial months of hers and Nikki's relationship. Nikki had always been honest with her about her feelings, but Helen hadn't always managed to do the same, something she had always regretted. 

"I'm not sure what you have on the agenda for today," John continued carefully. "But there is something that I think we should discuss." "Oh?" Helen replied with a certain amount of curiosity. "It is an extension of the guilt theme that we don't seem to have left alone for the last couple of sessions, and it's something that needs putting to rest for both of us, not just me." "You're talking about Ross," Helen finished for him. "Yes," John replied quietly. Helen had known that they would one day reach this point, because it was as much an unresolved set of circumstances for her as it was for him, just as he'd said, but that didn't mean she was looking forward to reopening that particular poisoned chalice. "This is pushing at the extreme edges of professional boundaries, Judge," Helen told him solemnly. "Which is something you've been doing since the very first time I came here to see you," John replied just as seriously. "I suppose you're right," Helen conceded. "Well, go on then, if you think it's something we ought to discuss, you tell me where to start." Helen found herself praying that no matter what questions he might throw at her, she would be able to remain in control. She was the professional here, not him, and she would not allow him to make her feel as vulnerable as he had undoubtedly felt on previous occasions. 

"What was your immediate reaction, when Ross first came to you as a patient?" "I was horrified," Helen replied, feeling a certain amount of confidence that she could answer his questions honestly enough to then get him back on track to answering hers. "This was Karen's son, my friend's son, and I couldn't help but wish that I didn't know what I did about him. It was plain that Karen had no idea about what was happening to him, and it became clear over the time that I saw him, that he had absolutely no intentions of telling her." "Did you try to persuade him to tell her?" John asked, slipping far too easily into the role of inquisitor. "Of course I did," Helen insisted vehemently. "Every bloody time I saw him I tried, but he didn't want to know. Something that occurred to me at the time, was that he was just as stubborn as his mother, because Karen reacted just like he did, when I tried to tell her about Fenner. She didn't want to know about Fenner, and Ross didn't want to know about her." There was a long, awful silence after Helen had uttered these words, with both of them trying to take in what she'd just said. "I didn't mean that," she said eventually, refusing to look John in the eye. "Yes, you did," He replied quietly. "You meant every word of it." "It just was sometimes far too obvious that she'd passed that particular trait onto him," Helen tried to explain. "Ross always thought he knew best, and when Karen was living with Fenner, so did she. That's why I originally thought of coming to you, because Ross wouldn't even consider speaking to her." "You were clutching at straws," John stated with a slight smile. "You know I was," She said, accepting his assessment of the situation. "Because anything was worth a try if it meant I could bypass the old adage of patient confidentiality. After what you said on that day I came to see you, I even tried coming up with a way to get him sectioned, just so that Karen would have to be told, but it was a bit of a non-starter." 

"After you'd gone," John said, continuing to refer to the time Helen had come to see him in chambers the year before. "I sat there for hours, going over and over everything I knew about the law of patient confidentiality, trying to find the slightest loophole. In the end, when I realised that I was going round and round in circles, I decided to seek advice from a higher authority. It's funny, but even after George and I divorced, I still sought out Joe Channing whenever I needed legal advice, or advice of any kind. I told him everything that you'd told me, but he came up with precisely the same answer as I had. I persisted, telling him that the law was wrong and that it ought to be changed, something I know I'd said on previous occasions. But this wasn't just any normal legal argument, this was suddenly far more real, because it concerned a woman who ranked highly in my affections. I knew something that she didn't about her own son, a state of affairs that felt despicably, indisputably wrong. Every time I saw Karen after that, I was forced to beat down the urge to ignore the consequences and simply tell her where her son was and what was happening to him. On the night he died, you accused me of doing only what was legally right, instead of what was morally right, and I entirely agreed with you. If I had done what was morally right, Karen would have been in a position to try and help her son, and he might still have been alive today." "That wasn't just the case for you, judge," Helen told him quietly. "It was for me too. I was so angry with you, myself, and the whole bloody system. Another life had been pointlessly wasted, just because neither you nor I had been legally able to tell a friend what she needed to know. That night was one of the worst nights of my life. She sounded so happy when I phoned her, so alive, with not a care in the world at that particular moment. She was in the car with George, and I had to shout at her to persuade her to get off the road. I tried to explain to her that Ross had been coming to see me, and what for, and she said that it made his behaviour over the last few months make some kind of sense. When I finally told her that Ross had killed himself, all she could ask was how. Having to put that into words, having to tell a mother that her son had taken the most difficult, most traumatic and painful of ways out, that was probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do. She couldn't say a word after I'd told her what he'd done, and all I could think was that I'd just completely obliterated everything Karen had ever worked for." 

In the resulting silence, John watched as the tears poured down Helen's cheeks. He shouldn't have done this, he couldn't help but think, he shouldn't have put her through this, because it really wasn't his place to do so. He had unwittingly put Helen into the far too vulnerable position that he had occasionally inhabited in previous sessions, which certainly wasn't the prerogative of any patient, no matter how well he might know her outside of the consulting room. Getting up from his chair, John handed Helen the box of tissues that usually resided on the coffee table between them, and sat down in a chair next to her. "I'm sorry," He told her quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you." "It doesn't matter," Helen said as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "If I'd thought about it long enough when you first asked to become my patient, I might have known we'd get to this point one day." "One thing you said to me a couple of sessions ago," John continued carefully. "Was that holding onto the guilt I feel couldn't possibly do me any good. I think that you need to consider taking your own advice. You acted within the constraints of your profession, as did I, as did my ex-father-in-law. As individuals we cannot change the laws that currently exist to protect a person's right to confidentiality, no matter how much we might disagree with them. Karen certainly doesn't blame you for what you did, and I'm fairly sure that she doesn't still blame me for it either. You need to stop blaming yourself, and so do I." As she listened to his calm, measured, thoroughly thought out words, Helen knew that he was right. It didn't mean that she could let go so easily of the guilt she had tried to bury about Karen, but his words had given her a reason to try. 


	159. Chapter 159

Part One Hundred and Fifty-Nine It was something that all three of them needed , to be wrapped around each other in John's huge bed. The stresses and strains of the last few months had taken it out of all of them. The pleasure trail laid Jo on her back and both John and George ran their expert touches on her from either side. Their tongues lazily and sensually caressed her nipples, and a surge of desire for both of them coursed through her. They were stranded on a coral island , all of their own.

A fleeting trail of thought flashed through her mind that at one time, she would not have given way to such unbridled sensual pleasure, thinking it was somehow sinful. The idea trailed away as she felt George's tongue leave her right nipple with regret and start to lazily lick her path all down her body. The delicate touch of fingers grazing her nipple immediately replaced it but she wasn't sure of the sex of those fingers. Gloriously, she decided that it didn't matter. Sensations of uncomplicated pleasure rose up in her, as George weaved a zig zag downward trail. Her thighs opened eagerly in anticipation of her entry into her. As John moved up to kiss her deeply, her gratitude to him led her own sensitive touch to enfold John's shaft and delicately massage him, touching him on the very spot that he was most sensitive to. As her own climax rose in her, she was equally thrilled to hear John's own sounds of pleasure. At one time, this had been her only glimpse into what was once his only direct expression of love, and the reciprocal sexual pleasure that he could bring to a woman.

Presently, they lay together all in a heap, exhausted and content with each other on that perfect day. "I could do with a cigarette." Mumbled George into John's chest.  
"Me too," Jo said sleepily "Think of it, you'll be all the healthier from refraining." John teased them. He could never pass up that chance to wind George and Jo up.  
"How frightfully smug and oh so politically correct you are, John." George reproved him."Let's see how courageous you are if someone told you to give up sex for a week. You'd soon be a gibbering wreck"  
"You can't contract lung cancer from sex." John argued back with irrefutable but tactless logic. If Jo and George weren't so languorously content from love making, both of them could have pointed out what unpleasant health hazards that sex did pose. Neither of them could be bothered to argue. The quilt that lay on their bed was crumpled and halfway off the bed, letting the night air gently cool their damp skin. All three of them rejoiced in their nakedness. "I suppose that we'll have to suffer the whims of our lord and master." Jo tactfully replied. John lay back content in the very large sized bed that accommodated them so perfectly.

Charlie had gone out with a crowd of her friends, but was feeling tired and out of sorts. A junior barrister had taken this irritatingly intense interest in her, and was boring her to death with flatteries that she had heard many times before. Some perverse instinct in her made her want to duck out of an evening clubbing. Besides, she could hear her father's sonorous voice, sternly advising her of the path of duty, to get home not too late so that she would be in reasonable shape the next day for court. She didn't really want to struggle with this voice of conscience, especially as the desire to be 'going out' was artificial and unreal. As she set out from the pub with the others, she regained her bearings and realized that she was close to her father's flat. She fumbled in her handbag , and found the key that he had left her and a smile split her face. How pleased he would be with her dropping in for some impromptu quality time, especially as he was such a good conversationalist. "I'm dreadfully sorry but I'm dropping out of this. I'm not very well and I'm going to crash at my father's flat. See you guys another time." The barrister's face fell but, at the critical moment, opted to tag along with the others , rather than to drop out of the party. After the farewells had faded into obscurity, Charlie's heels clicked their way round the corner. As all the windows were dark, she carefully opened the lock quietly and let herself in. She glanced round the lounge and the room was deserted, everything neatly put away in their rightful place as she might expect. Dad was very methodical in that way.  
"Are you in, dad?" Charlie called out unthinkingly from the hallway.

The three bodies in the bed were frozen like marble in total horror. They were derailed from their dormant parental roles. The three of them realized in a flash that there was not a hope in hell of any of them even gathering their own clothes from the tangle of clothes strewn round the room. To whip them in record time was utterly impossible in the few seconds left before Charlie walked towards the bedroom. In an incongruous flash of memory, John recalled Charlie's youth when he had come home at an unexpected hour to the flat that he and Charlie shared. He had stared suspiciously and protectively in true parental manner at a slightly dishevelled looking Charlie, smiling bright eyed at him with false innocence while some adolescent boy lounged insolently on his settee. There was nothing in the unwritten parental code to deal with a situation like this. At least Charlie had all her clothes on in the first place with which to look disheveled. "Keep quiet everyone, and maybe Charlie will just go into the spare bedroom"  
"As if, Jo," whispered George in despair at Jo's foolish optimism.

Carelessly, Charlie automatically flung open the door. It was only five minutes ago that she and the carefree crowd she was with had been laughing and drinking at a noisy singles bar. It was probably as well that her eyes look a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room, but her mind took a lot longer to assimilate what lay before her eyes. At first, Charlie's mindset simply assumed that her father had been merely caught out with one of his stray flings that her supposedly sophisticated mind had had to get used to. She hadn't ever seen anything , that's all. Then her mouth opened wide as she realized that the blond haired woman, her father's typical sort was in fact her own mother. Her eyes opened as wide as her mouth, as she took in the sight of a taller shape with tousled hair was, in fact, her mentor at the law firm and her sort of mother substitute, Jo. "This can't be happening." Breathed Charlie.  
John grabbed the duvet to cover his own modesty, not sparing a thought to Jo or George. After all, he reasoned, there are certain functions in life, best performed naked and others where being fully clothed was a definite necessity. For the first time in life, he found himself utterly stuck for words. Neither Jo nor George was helping him out, he thought ruefully. After all wasn't it the case that women were on average more verbally fluent with words? By default, he was the first one to eventually speak. "Can you give us a minute, Charlie?" It had the incongruity of tone as if he were seeking an adjournment in court, before sentence was passed.

Charlie's feet felt as if they were riveted to the floor and her legs felt frozen. John's words did her that one favour, enabling her to beat a retreat. She needed some fresh air fast and, still being unable to form a coherent sentence, she headed out to John's balcony. On the way, she spotted a packet of cigarettes on the coffee table and her fingers reached out to take them with her. It must have been a memory of her mother, which prompted her to light one of them up when she was outside. As the taste of the smoke hit her airwaves, she started coughing. This seemed the last of her worries. It puzzled her that people could voluntarily clog up their lungs for pleasure, far less to alleviate stress. She stared round at the normality of the balcony trying to reassure herself with familiar surroundings. 

Charlie's exit galvanized the three of them into frantic action. John clicked on the bedside light and all three of them scrabbled round for their own clothes. John was luckier than the other two women in this respect. All three of them were prompted by the irrational thought that the quicker they dressed, it might go some way towards remedying the situation. It escaped their attention that Charlie was hardly likely to make a reappearance. As John buttoned up his shirt and achieved respectability by the time his last button but one was fastened, he was dismayed to see that both Jo and George were reaching for their coats. He might have been the progressive minded single parent bringing up Charlie but it struck him that there were limits to pride and independence. He needed them. Surely they weren't planning on deserting him in his hour of need? "Aren't either of you staying?" He asked almost desperately. "This has absolutely nothing to do with me, John," Jo informed him firmly. "George?" He asked, feeling that she at least owed him some support in this matter. "I had to tell her about sex the first time round," George replied as she picked up her handbag and fished out her car keys. "Now, I do believe, it's your turn. Good luck, darling."

Oh great, he muttered under his breath as he straightened his clothes as best as he could. Life was so unfair, he moaned to himself. He had more or less got away with it all those years when he had been a sexual reprobate but had somehow avoided the direct consequences being visited on Charlie. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should express his love towards the two women who were dearest to him in the world and, in turn, they to him and to each other. Intellectually, he had gone through that journey in his mind to not just accept but rejoice in their love for each other. It had never crossed his mind that Charlie had not been on the same journey, being physically away from his life. Still less had he anticipated being caught in flagrente. That had never happened before with the exception of the over zealous spy who had photographed him and Jo at the digs. He had always escaped being caught by the skin of his teeth. Right now, he felt uncomfortably naked and exposed as he heard Jo and George open the door and escape into the night air.

In his mind, the three of them were virtuous enough if unconventional. It was quite another matter to convince Charlie of this.

John made a supreme effort to set foot towards the balcony. This was much harder than walking into the courtroom to face the most difficult trial ever. At least his line of law books were the visual equivalent as his incisive memory were props to give him form and structure. Right now, he had nothing except what he might conjure out of the situation. John paced to the drinks cabinet and poured both him and Charlie a drink. He wasn't sure who would need it most. He strolled out onto his balcony, where unaccountably he smelt tobacco. Automatically, he raised an eyebrow at her smoking but refrained from commenting at her blatant disregard of his upbringing and especially that she was smoking in his flat. He crushed the automatic thought down. In view of what he was going to face, it hardly seemed to matter.

Charlie stared out towards the street, refusing to look in his direction. John gulped nervously as he realized that, intentionally or otherwise, because Charlie wasn't going to make this easy for him. How could he talk to her when she wasn't making any eye contact, or any human contact of any kind? By definition, his normal pose of adult sophistication was one that was impossible for him to assume. The only problem was that all his other poses failed spectacularly to support him. He was driven to somehow invent a new method of coping but exactly what that was felt utterly beyond his imaginings.  
There was a long and very awkward silence between them. It felt that there was a huge chasm between them, as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon, even though Charlie was only three feet away from him in physical distance. He was haunted by the ancestral instinct that parents weren't supposed to act like this which made his modern liberal values seem terrifyingly skin deep. Words struggled within him for articulation but his feelings felt too intense and articulate for words. It was only eventually that the simple truth of his situation was forced out of him, without a clue as to how the conversation might be directed. "I really don't know what to say, Charlie," he admitted. This was a real first for him. "How long has this been going on between the three of you? I assume that this was not a first night"  
It struck John that Charlie's lack of name for their relationship betrayed her own intense awkwardness.  
"You're right"  
"But why, dad"  
"Would you rather that Jo and George were trying to scratch each other's eyes out, both eaten up by jealousy of each other as they have done for so many years"  
"So does that make things right"  
"Would you rather that I betray the trust of both of them, sleeping with any casual woman that took my fancy as I used to"  
Charlie's eyes flitted every way but at John. Her fidgety body language betrayed the fact that Charlie was as awkward as he felt. Somehow, he had overlooked that, seeing Charlie only as a relentless force for judgment over him. He might have consoled himself with the pretence that children were infinitely adaptable but didn't . It hadn't worked for him so why should it work for Charlie? "You're forgetting that at least I knew where I stood. As I was brought up on all the women in your life, why should you expect me to be stable and understanding? You have a nerve, dad"  
For once, Charlie's blue eyes locked with him, and it was his turn to look away. The shaft of mingled reproach and accusation diminished him in her eyes. No matter how dysfunctional his upbringing, he had never had to deal with what Charlie was having to deal with. At least this was the case as far as he knew though in those days, parents didn't talk to children in the same way that he talked to Charlie. Desperately, he blindly reached out for an answer, and by chance, he found it. "You can't clutch onto the scars of your upbringing, Charlie. There is so much I have reason for feeling guilty in my life, but my love of both George and Jo and their love for each other is not one of them"  
Although John's words were pitched low, their understated manner acted as a bucket of water thrown over Charlie. She stood open mouthed. This was a father that she had never known before. His total candour was both embarrassing and poignant for her. She simply couldn't get her head round it. "I just don't get it, dad. Whatever can Jo and the Ice Maiden have in common"  
"Because they both have a capacity for love only George had more problems in showing it. Because they both realized that they were wasting their time in fighting each other and over me. They couldn't rub each other out of history. Once they learned to share their love for me unselfishly, they could learn to properly love themselves and each other. Because, both of them forced me to devote myself only to them, and no one else. At least each of them knew where I was when we weren't all together. You might get to realize how much that is worth if you settle down"  
"Settle down?" echoed Charlie with something of her mother's capacity for heavy-handed sarcasm. Bad move there, John noted, but this is not irretrievable.  
"Well, we are settled, more or less. You must admit, it has to be better than the anarchy of my past life." Even as he spoke, he realized that the simple formulation of present and past meant that a sea change had taken place and that for once in his life, he was talking simply and plainly. Helen might be proud of him when he came to think of it.  
"That's very convenient for the three of you," Charlie said at last with something of a sneer," but where do I fit into the picture"  
"Both of them are fond of you in their different ways." Explained John patiently.  
"Jo, perhaps," admitted Charlie, "but mum"  
"There's a lot that you know of this world, but you don't know her as much as you might. It's easily done to not see what is right under your nose." John drew a breath of relief that Charlie had accepted his delicately phrased point. Nothing had riled the teenage Charlie more than his air of intellectual superiority in the ways of the world. The conversation tailed off as Charlie reflected on what John had patiently and tentatively explained to her. Her cigarette end smouldered away between her fingertips, ash dropping off it and onto the floor. Neither John nor Charlie was aware of this.  
"It's going to take me a while to get my head round the fact that mum likes women, never mind Jo"  
"She would say the same if you talked to her. The only explanation that I can come up with is that what was a lingering temptation over the years finally came to the surface. Ask yourself something, do you really choose who you will fall in love with? What I am truly and genuinely sorry about is that you had the reality of our situation thrust on you in the way that it was. That should not have happened"  
There was a look of genuine contrition on John's face, that was a revelation to Charlie as it was totally novel. Usually, John had always kept a mask on both his face and feelings when he felt uncomfortable. She had only got to know how he really felt with the sharp eyes of a child, who sees more than an adult normally gives credit for. This time, John's candour was so obvious that it almost hurt Charlie's eyes to look at. Finally, one last question in Charlie's mind rose to the surface. "What I really don't understand, is how you can still find her attractive, looking the way she does." The irritation on John's face was plain to Charlie and testified to his growing confidence. He had also expected better from her than this superficial glamorized view of the world. "I admit that thirty years ago, something like that may have mattered to me, but not any more. I love George, and I love Jo, and nothing is ever going to change that, no matter how they look or what happens to any of us." "You must have really changed, dad." Charlie asked quizzically, slightly feeling embarrassed and gauche. "How did that happen"  
"I don't honestly know, Charlie." He confessed frankly. At the moment when a change in thinking comes to take place, exactly when is it that the penny finally drops. He couldn't remember.  
Charlie finally noticed the cigarette end in her fingers. She stubbed it out and looked thoughtfully at the ashtray. She didn't need it anymore. She was finally starting to make sense of her surroundings.  
"So that's why George and Jo have been getting on better than before." It was a flat statement, not a question.  
"Partly that, and partly finally becoming friends after all these years." "You did look ridiculous, trying to preserve your modesty with that quilt." Charlie suddenly giggled. "At least I've been smart enough to know when you were coming back to the flat when I've had a boyfriend round"  
John came the nearest to blushing that he ever had in his life.  
"This has had to be one of the most mortifying experiences in my life. I'll never live it down and George and Jo cleared off to let me face the music"  
Charlie laughed for the first time in what felt like a very long time.  
"It could have been worse, dad. Want a refill"  
The gratitude in John's eyes touched Charlie. He really looked as if he needed a drink as well.  
"I've never needed a drink so much in all my life." He meant it. 


	160. Chapter 160

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Sixty

But three days later, George found herself wondering just how she had managed to feel so sensuously ecstatic as she had with John and Jo on the Wednesday evening. It was Saturday, and she had been for another session of chemo the day before. She had felt a little lightheaded on returning home on the Friday evening, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. But by Saturday evening, she would have wholeheartedly given up the fight for life if she had so much as been given the option to do so. Nothing, not even water would stay down any longer, and she couldn't help but question as to why her stomach was still in tact. She had tried taking some of the anti-sickness medication in tablet form earlier in the day, but that like everything else in the past twenty-four hours had returned with a vengeance. John was with her, but he could do very little to make her feel better, and if George had been honest, she would far rather that he didn't witness this side to her cure. Had Jo been available, she would have done what Ric and Zubin had asked of her, and given George the medication by injection which had resided at the back of the fridge since George's chemo had begun some weeks ago. But Jo wasn't anywhere near. She was in York, spending the weekend with her two sons who were at university there. Having felt comparatively okay the night before, George had assumed that she would remain so for the entire time that Jo would be away, telling her to go and see her children, and not to worry about her. She wouldn't be making that mistake again, George thought to herself as she tried to curtail the pain and misery associated with persistent vomiting. But John couldn't simply let her suffer, when a possible solution had just occurred to him. 

Karen was at home on the Saturday evening, doing nothing more exciting than tidying up her flat after a hard week's work, and sorting through the mountain of post she had received, most of it junk mail. When the phone call came, she far too readily put down the bank statement, thinking that she definitely needed to get herself a life if the simple ringing of the phone could make her smile. "Karen, its John," Came the familiar voice over the wire. "I need your help." "What's happened?" Karen asked, her brain immediately switching back onto red alert. When John had explained the situation to her, Karen simply said, "I'm on my way," Before switching off the phone and picking up her car keys. 

When she arrived a short while later, John opened the door to her in a state of utter relief. Karen would be able to help George where he couldn't, that was something he could be infinitely sure of. "How is she?" Karen asked as she moved into the hall. "Still the same," John replied, and Karen could see just what a toll the worry for George was having on him. "What did Ric give you for this?" Karen asked, her former professional role coming back so easily that John briefly wondered why she'd left that profession in the first place. "I'll show you," He said, leading her into the kitchen, where he'd retrieved two separate bags of medication from the fridge, one quite obviously containing more than injections. Picking up this particular pharmacy bag, Karen read the words, "Only to be administered by a qualified professional," On the label. "Okay," She said, putting the bag back down on the table. "We'll come to that one if necessary." Opening the other bag, she found several pre-packed syringes of Cyclozine, and briefly reading the instructions, she asked, "Is this what Jo was taught to give her?" "I think so," John replied, not having been there when this had taken place. "Well, this is easy enough to give her," Karen told him, moving towards the stairs. 

When she walked into George's en suite bathroom, Karen was more than a little alarmed to see just how ill George actually was. "You don't look too good," She said by way of greeting. "Bloody, understatement of the, century," George said with difficulty. "The Cyclozine has to go in the top of your thigh," Karen told her as she undid the packet. "Is that all right?" "As long as it works," George answered miserably. "I really don't care." Kneeling down beside her, Karen lifted the corner of the nightie George was wearing, and without any hesitation whatsoever, pierced her skin with the hypodermic needle, depressing the plunger of the syringe, allowing the medication to enter George's musculatory system. After laying the syringe and its empty packet aside, Karen gently began rubbing circles on George's back. "The only way you're going to stop heaving," She tried to explain. "Is if you try to relax." "Easy, for you, to say," George replied bitterly. "I know," Karen told her reasonably, not remotely phased by George's temper. "But try to take slow, deep breaths, and I promise you it will happen." 

When George had eventually calmed down, enough to stagger unsteadily to her feet, Karen rose with her and put out an arm to steady her as she swayed. "Just take it slowly," Karen persuaded her. "Your blood sugar and blood pressure have probably gone through the floor." George leaned against the sink as she cleaned her teeth, trying to keep her eyes off the mirror image of her far too unhealthy features. But as Karen put out an arm to help her back to bed, George said, "I've got to have a shower. I feel disgusting." "Absolutely not," Karen replied firmly. "I give you five minutes before you're flat on your back because you've fainted, and that's probably being uncommonly generous." "What do you suggest I do then?" George demanded acidly, finding it far easier to take out her frustrations on Karen than she had on John, though she didn't know why. Looking over at where John stood in the bedroom doorway regarding her thoughtfully, Karen had an idea. "John, please could you fetch me a bowl of warm water and a glass of ice?" "Sure," he said, feeling at last that there was something he could do to help. As John went downstairs to fetch the required items, George moved back over to the bed, perching on the edge, trying to summon up a little more strength than she currently had. "Lie down before you fall down," Karen told her affectionately. "Actually, that's not a bad idea," George said as she slumped back onto the pillows, admitting a certain amount of defeat if not conceding to it fully. When John returned, he handed the washing-up bowl full of warm water to Karen, who placed it on the flat expanse of duvet on George's left. As she took the glass of ice cubes that he'd been holding, she thanked John and gave him a look that quite clearly asked him to leave them to it. 

When John had retreated downstairs, Karen said, "Sucking ice is the quickest way to get at least some fluid back inside you." "I'll take your word for it," George replied dismally. But as she watched Karen retrieve a soft sponge and some shower gel from the bathroom, she felt all her defences rise up in protest of her situation. "You can't be serious?" She said as Karen squirted some of the shower gel into the bowl of water. "Perfectly," Karen replied matter-of-factly. "Because I am not giving you any opportunity to black out and crack your skull on the edge of the bath. Okay?" "No, it's not okay," George responded bitterly, the tears running helplessly down her cheeks. "I feel so feeble and pathetic." "I know," Karen said, reaching forward to remove George's nightie. "And just because you need looking after at the moment, you are not feeble, and you are not pathetic, I promise you." "You wouldn't just sit back and let someone do this, would you?" George asked, determined to get her argument across if nothing else. "Not in a million years," Karen said with a smile, beginning to run the moistened sponge over George's face. "I'd probably be the most cantankerous patient going." "Well, there you are then," George insisted, admitting only to herself that the scented water did feel wonderfully refreshing on her boiling hot body. "Would you prefer that John were doing this?" Karen asked, beginning to run the sponge all over George's feverish skin. "Good god, no," George replied in horror. "What about Jo?" "Even if she had it in her mind to attempt such a thing, I wouldn't let her," George replied confidently. "So why let me?" Karen asked with a certain amount of real curiosity. "Because whilst I can win most battles," George replied without a shred of hesitation. "This one, much to my sincere irritation, I can't." "That's honest, I suppose," Karen said dryly. 

When George reached for the glass of ice cubes on the bedside cabinet, and Karen yet again squeezed the water from the sponge, Karen raised the subject of George's alternative medication. "John showed me another bag of injections, with a label on it saying that it should only be administered by a fully trained professional. What's that all about?" "Ric told me that there may come a time when I would need something far stronger than the Cyclozine. He gave me something that could if necessary be administered by my GP. Why?" "I just wondered," Karen replied, reaching for the bath towel that she'd laid on the bed beside her, gently drying George's freshened body before retrieving a clean night-dress from the chest of drawers. "Do you mind if I talk to Ric about this?" Karen asked, after pulling the nightie down over George's head. "No, I don't mind," George replied with a yawn. "Just don't let him persuade you that I need to be in hospital." "Well, I'll try," Karen said, not promising anything. "But I might be tempted to agree with him. Now, go to sleep, and I'll come and check on you later." 

When Karen appeared downstairs and poured the bowl of water down the kitchen sink, John came into talk to her. "Is she all right?" He asked, putting the kettle on for some coffee. "She will be," Karen replied, thoughtfully looking at the other pharmacy bag on the kitchen table. "But I need to talk to Ric about her." "Karen, thank you for being here," John told her earnestly. "I wouldn't have known how to help her." "I'd do anything for George, you know that," Karen told him quietly. "Besides, you forget that it used to be my job, many moons ago." Picking up the cordless phone, Karen sat down at the kitchen table as John began to make them some coffee. 

"Ric, it's Karen," She said when she got him on the line. As she began to explain what had happened and what she had done, leaving out nothing of George's present condition, John put a mug of coffee down in front of her together with an ashtray, receiving a smile in return. As he listened to Karen, he couldn't help but realise that she had excelled at the nursing profession just as much as she had done and was still doing in her current one. "Okay," Ric said when he'd heard all that Karen had to say. "For a start, the Cyclozine probably won't be enough to keep the sickness at bay. So, tell me what I put in that second bag, and we'll go from there." Taking a swig of her coffee, Karen began laying the contents of the bag out on the table. "There's a bottle of saline, several 14 gauge canulas, clean syringes, clean needles, surgical tape, alcohol wipes and several pre-packed syringes of something called Granisetron, which is a new one on me." "We use it a lot nowadays for chemotherapy patients, because it's a hell of a lot stronger than either Cyclozine or Metaclopromide. It's the best thing since sliced bread as far as anti-sickness medication is concerned." "Okay, but now you've finished extolling its virtues," Karen said with a smile. "What do you want me to do?" "We always start off with Cyclozine," Ric explained. "Because any friend or relative can be trained to give it as it's intra-muscular, and because no normal friend or relative can be given the responsibility of giving something via intra-venous access. However, you do appear to be the exception to the rule." "Aren't I always?" Karen commented dryly. "But are you sure I would be permitted to administer this?" "You're still a fully qualified nurse," Ric said succinctly. "So yes, without a doubt, though I would have trusted you to do it in any case." "Well, thankfully neither of us will get hung for breaking the rules. Is there anything I need to know about Granisetron?" "Other than that it can only be given once every twelve hours, no. Don't forget to flush the canula with saline before you inject the drug, and if she's still throwing up by tomorrow, I'm afraid that she'll have no choice, because I will want her in hospital right away. Let me know if you have any problems." "Thanks, I will," Karen replied, switching the phone off and lighting herself a cigarette. 

As John sat across from her, listening as she talked to Ric and watching as she put the phone down and thoughtfully smoked her cigarette, one question rose plaintively in his mind, refusing to be banished from his conscience. "Would it be extremely uncharitable of me," He began carefully. "To ask whether you really know what you're doing?" "No, not really," Karen replied, a little surprised by his enquiry. "But I can promise you that if Ric didn't think I did know what I was doing, he wouldn't let me anywhere near what I'm about to do. I took my last refresher course a few months ago, so you have nothing to worry about." "I'm sorry," John said, feeling thoroughly contrite. "Don't be," Karen assured him softly. "You're worried about her, just like I am." 

When they went upstairs a good while later, George was sound asleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Karen gently shook her shoulder. "George, I need you to wake up," She coaxed her quietly. Sluggishly turning over, George tried to surface from the fog in her brain. "I need to put a needle in the back of your hand, so that I can give you something far better than the Cyclozine," Karen explained. "Okay," George replied exhaustedly, not giving a damn what was done to her at this precise moment. Removing George's right arm from under the duvet, Karen first of all wiped the back of her hand with one of the alcohol wipes, sterilising the skin. After asking George to make a fist for her, she located the most prominent vein before swiftly and accurately inserting the needle of one of the canulas. Then, filling a clean syringe with clear saline, she flushed the canula, ensuring that it was in the correct place. "Why did you do that?" John asked, from where he stood watching her in the bedroom doorway. "To make sure there aren't any blockages before injecting the medication," Karen told him. Removing one of the syringes of Granisetron from its packet, Karen fitted the end of the syringe to the canula, and injected the drug that might keep George's stomach in an entirely peristaltic fashion for at least the next twelve hours. After replacing the cap on the end of the canula, she put a piece of surgical tape over the needle to keep it in place. "I'm going to give that half an hour to kick in," She told George after putting her hand carefully back under the duvet. "And then I want you to try having just a few sips of water." "That might take some persuasion," George said tiredly, not wanting to risk throwing up again any time soon. "But I suppose that nurses' training taught you how to do that too." "You can bet on it," Karen replied with a soft smile, brushing some hair back from George's face, and thinking that maybe she did still have what it took, maybe she did still possess that quality that had long ago seemed to come to her so naturally. 


	161. Chapter 161

A/N: The Howard League of Penal Reform

Part One Hundred and Sixty-One

Nikki had a curious feeling as she made her way to work. She was due to have her own appraisal with Karen. This had not happened to her for a long time, not since she was at school. The nearest that she had come to having her behaviour 'appraised' was when she was an inmate. She stopped herself going down there, as it raised too many dark memories of injustice. It took a real effort of will and a cigarette to mentally haul herself back on track , and remind herself just who she was. The trouble was that the ten months since she had started, as wing governor had been a very intense period in her life, which had whizzed past in no time at all. As the time for her appraisal came nearer, she had felt that she had done a lot, but it had all gone into a generalized blur. Only with a real effort of will, had she scribbled down some rough notes at the last minute. Curiously, it was far easier to write up notes on others than on herself. On the other side of the door on Karen's desk, lay Nikki's appraisal report file with a whole host of notes on Nikki's performance in this first year of hers. To do her full justice would take a long time.

She welcomed Nikki in with a friendly greeting and gestured her to a chair the other side of her desk. She could sense a touch of nervousness in Nikki's manner and she made a special effort to reassure her.

"Well, Nikki, now is the time to put your first year in perspective. You will know by now just how time consuming the whole process is, but I can't think of a better way to take stock over the past year. It will help both of us."

Karen paused to light a cigarette to gather her thoughts and handed another to Nikki before continuing.

"You've done a hell of a lot since you set foot in here ten months ago. My problem in doing your report is in making sure that I've got everything down so tell me if I've missed anything. Shall I continue?"

As Nikki nodded mutely, Karen continued. "I'll work through everything in chronological order and pull it in to your job description. For a start, you wasted no time in talking one to one with your prison officers and, with two exceptions, won them over in very short order. I remember hearing of some very favourable feedback in my travels, and not only from those who were well enough disposed to you in the first place. What you did right was that they knew exactly where they stood with you. You also got them on side from the word go, and you've kept them there since"  
"And the exceptions"  
"Sylvia and Di, of course. You would never have won them over any more than I ever did in my time. You probably haven't appreciated the fact that you severely limited the damage that they could have done. You prevented them gaining allies that they could have manipulated to their own purposes and set them against you. Again, I must thank you for putting up with two particularly difficult officers, and also your contribution to the events where Di Barker was finally sacked"  
"That honestly hadn't crossed my mind"  
Karen grinned as Nikki shook her head in amazement. It was so like Nikki to be unassuming about herself.  
"I remember very clearly the way you stepped into the breach when my son Ross, when Ross died…..When I finally got back to work, I heard how Neil had to restrain you from becoming acting Governing Governor, but you talked with the other wing governors and, thanks to that, you took a huge weight off my mind when I needed it most. Believe you me, Nikki, I'll never forget that, either officially or otherwise." Nikki was incredibly touched by Karen's uncharacteristic public display of emotion, and the break in her voice as she referred to Ross. That emotional scar hadn't gone away. "I really don't know where this figures in your appraisal as it isn't in your job description but I have you to thank for getting me not to work myself into the grave, when I came back from work, not to say during and after I went up on the prison roof after Denny. I'll write something up about it somehow"  
"I could see how you were suffering. I couldn't do anything but try to help you." Nikki said softly in tones, that came close to making Karen shed tears of gratitude. She couldn't help thinking that Helen was a lucky woman and how uncomplicated their lives were, compared with hers.  
"I must give weight to your very fine performance at the Howard League for Penal Reform , where you certainly gave the entire conference hall a lot of food for thought. You really focused people's minds on what the prison service was actually about. Neil and I were so proud of you , even if you were in danger of upstaging me and stealing half my script. I am absolutely certain that your ideas will crop up in the work of a number of the audience, who will have thought long and hard about what you said."

"I have you to thank for having words with DI Sullivan to put him in his place after Shell Dockley broke into my bedroom. Your words were well said, and he won't dare to be the pain in the arse that he has been. I can't give praise enough for the way that you conducted yourself as a witness at Barbara Mills' trial. Your quick wittedness of thinking and clarity of expression gave Brian Cantwell a very good run for his money. You thoroughly deserve the praise that I understand John lavished on you. Following on from that, you did well in spotting a deficiency in prison officer training in your initiative in training prison officers to give evidence in court. It's one of those things that's so obvious that no one notices unless you have fresh eyes to see it with. I'm proposing to introduce this for the entire wing."

"When I turn to the way that you run the wing, you are a natural at handling budgets and in administration in general. Last but not least, when I turn to the prisoners in your care, what can I say? You came to Larkhall with the potential disadvantage of a conflict of interest with the prisoners whom you've known before and you've turned it to your advantage. One reason why the wing is peaceful is because of what you have done to 'give duty of care' to the prisoners, both personally and through your prison officers. My only apology is that your plans for educational projects have been held up by budgetary constraints. Within the limits of the prison system, you have done all that you possibly could"  
"I'm lucky to build on the work that you and Helen did before me," murmured Nikki modestly. Karen knew better. Her experience was that the hard work to build up a good wing could be ruined overnight by an incompetent, lazy or bigoted replacement.

"What makes you unique as a wing governor is your background largely outside the prison service. It does tempt you to go for the simplest, most obvious course of action and I know that you get irritated if any red tape stands in your way. I remember you going a little over the top when we discussed Sylvia coming back to you, but I can't hold really hold that against you. You very gracefully came to terms with the situation. To be fair to you, I know that you will look for any underlying meaning in the rules and regulations and you know that they can help as much as appear to hinder"  
"Can be?" questioned Nikki.  
"I've worked outside the prison service as well, Nikki." Retorted Karen with a grin. "OK, it is another organization with the sort of hierarchies that you have managed to avoid, but different in some ways. It has given me skills that I have found useful at Larkhall on more occasions than I care to think. Besides, once I learned those skills, I never wanted them to get rusty and out of date, don't ask me why……." Karen's voice faded as a reflective mood overtook her and her eyes looked far into the distant for a moment. Presently, they sharpened up and she came back to the here and now.  
"It does mean that I can see that you inject something fresh and vibrant into this place, that you're not stuck in a rut and indoctrinated to blindly follow orders without question"  
"As if"  
"It's just that you have to take care just how far you push boundaries , but don't ever go the other way and get totally intimidated by rules and regulations"  
"Is this the Governing Governor talking?" Nikki queried with a grin.  
"This is me, Karen Betts, giving you the benefit of my knowledge. This bit is off the record"  
Karen paused as she rounded to her conclusion.  
"I know that I've done all the talking so stop me if there is anything that you want to mention that I hadn't. No? Well then the most difficult part of this appraisal is what mark to give you. To give you an 'average' mark is to insult you. The highest mark I can give you is 'outstanding' and for that you really have to walk on water. The mark in the middle is 'above average' but you have done so much in this year that even this seems a little stingy"  
"You do what you think best, Karen"  
"Can you let me write up my report and as I do it, I'll decide which way to go. You've written reports so you know how difficult it can get." Karen finally decided, with a touch of impatience with her own indecisiveness.

A huge feeling of satisfaction welled up in Nikki. She knew that Karen thought highly of her, but she hadn't expected to be that highly praised. She had only done what she had done, according to her own standards. This demonstration of public esteem seemed to make up for the undramatic way that she had received her degree certificate from the Open University. In the years before that, she worked hard to build her's and Trisha's club off the ground. Going right back to the beginning to her days at school, she had been built up by the good grades on her 'O' level certificates and was swiftly knocked back down again by her public disgrace and expulsion. "You're very kind and generous, Karen." She said softly. "You don't know how good you have made me feel about myself.."

The two of them fell silent and smoked the last of their cigarettes. Suddenly, Karen began to laugh to herself for no apparent reason.  
"Do you remember the first words that you ever said to me"  
"Wasn't it something like 'piss off like I told the other tart?" Nikki said diplomatically. She had said worse than that but was too embarrassed to get the words out. "Not quite" Karen said with a straight face. "It was 'Is this an interjection or an enquiry after my health"  
"Oh really? Not as bad as I feared. Mind you, I always did have a big mouth"  
Both of them realized at the same time that this had the makings of a standing joke between the two of them.  
"See, I always knew that you were a smart arse. I never realized at the time just how smart." The way that Karen's tone switched from light-hearted levity to real heartfelt sincerity encapsulated the passing of time and where they were both now.

The secretary looked out from under her mask at Neil Haughton as he stormed into the office. Her survival instinct was in suppressing any expression of her own feelings, and avoiding any attention being drawn to her. Her only irritation was that her presence was noticed hardly more than the coat stand in the corner and equally taken for granted. It was preferable to being singled out as convenient target for his rages. As she spotted the director of the prison service walking in the direction of Neil Houghton's private conference room half an hour later, she was glad that she was a lowly functionary in the system. The director was far higher paid than she was and was paid to be shouted at.

"Just look at this," he snapped at the unfortunate man, shoving a newspaper under his eyes." Some wretched bleeding heart liberal has been sounding off about prison overcrowding as if they don't get enough perks. They get three square meals a day and television. They make it sound as if there's a problem when all they have to do is to budge up a bit." Already, in a very short period of time, the director of the prison service had the look of a whipped dog in his encounters with the Home Secretary. It was no good him quoting the latest Howard League for Penal Reform at him, which made quite well reasoned points.  
Sweet reason got him nowhere fast.  
"In a desperate attempt to find empty beds, prisoners are being transported all over the country. In 2001, 37,000 prisoners were being held over 50 miles away from home, for 5,000 of these the distance was more than 150 miles. This cost the taxpayer millions of pounds in transportation costs and in delays to the criminal justice system as a result of late arrivals for court appearances."

There were real complexities at work, but Neil Houghton wasn't in the mood to listen to them. He didn't want to know the details as they only clouded the picture in his mind when bold, clear strategy policies were what both the cabinet and the electorate demanded. Whoever heard of a Home Secretary that was soft on crime? He was the last person to break the mould. His predecessor has said all the right catchphrase but his grip on his ministry was rather lax. He determined to be a 'hands on' minister and keep a sharp eye open for trouble. 

"Have you seen the latest figures of the prison population, Home Secretary? The latest figures out for March 2006 show 77,035 and the underlying trend is rising"  
"Is that something we should be ashamed of?" Neil Houghton snapped, the look in his blue eyes tending towards the homicidal. It was that mannerism of his that intimidated anyone whose career was in his jealous hands.  
"When I took office, it became obvious that we need to lock up more criminals, not less. What's the point of all the tough legislation, outlawing crime if we don't bang them up"  
"That is in the hands of the judges and isn't in our remit," the director of prisons bravely pointed out. "Don't talk to me about judges." Neil Houghton shouted." I intend to bring them into line along with everyone else. What I am horrified at is that word has reached me that the new female wing governor of one of our most controversial prisons is an ex con. Can you explain that one to me?" "She will have gone through the usual board in fair and open competition," stammered the unfortunate man," or else she would never have got the job"  
"So how did she get the job with a prison record under her belt? Her application ought to have been weeded out at the initial sift"  
"I would have to check this out to be certain"  
"Do so. It's more than likely that she was assisted by some of the malcontents in area management. I strongly suspect that there are a number of them who are not 'on message' , and are pushing their own sinister agenda. There are far too many of that type who would stab me in the back as soon as look as me. This is their way of discrediting me. They're all out to get me"  
"She must have had something in her CV to get her a look in." "That's not the issue, don't you see?" Neil Houghton uttered in spiteful, contemptuous tones." The problem is that she is definitely not 'one of us.' I want something doing about her"  
"That's very difficult, unless she's clearly committed any offence and only if there's an internal investigation"  
"So we wait for trouble to happen? I might have expected no better from wishy washy types like you. If I had been home secretary last year, I never would have allowed this situation to happen in the first place"  
The pressure was on the man to come up with something more practical, as his own job was on the line. If it meant throwing out ballast to ensure his survival, then so be it. His career depended on political expediency. "The only thing I can suggest is an inspection of Larkhall. There must be something that we can trip her up over, and give us something to use against her"  
Neil Houghton bared his teeth in something like a smile, which would have caused dogs and other psychic creatures to bare their teeth or run a mile. He had that effect on his surroundings.  
"Do so, and make it immediate. It must turn up something suitably damning"  
The two of them were not to know that such a damning report from the Chief Inspector of Prisons report was going to land on his desk two days later, and also hit the press. It would slate Doncaster private prison of 'yet another prison failing to put people before profit' and that 'the private sector could have made a stand against overcrowding but instead has caved into the pursuit of profit at the expense of decent conditions and rehabilitation." This was not the sort of failure that was politically acceptable and would give the spin doctors a real PR headache. 


	162. Chapter 162

Part One Hundred and Sixty Two

Grayling had long learnt a whole range of skills and sensitive antenna with which to play the game of office politics. He had that knack of attuning himself to the delicate nuances around him. He was also blessed with particularly sharp hearing, which enabled him to pick up on private conversations, that others fondly imagined were secret. His ability to persuade others with his silver tongue was linked with a very agile mind. Once, these gifts were used for selfish self-advancement, but now he saw himself as the protector of those like-minded idealists who would give him loyalty in return. Ironically, by learning to give unselfishly to others, he had avoided the trap that self-seeking paranoid careerists fell into of being unable to trust others, surrounded as they were by sycophants. From his distant observation of Ministers as they swanned around area on their royal progressions, they were the worst of that breed. He could tell it by their lying eyes.

The evil smile on Alison Warner's face had first told Grayling that there was bad news afoot, and made him more observant than normal. There had been that scurrying sensation of people and events, before they had all been summoned together to a meeting. As a result of this, he had immediately grabbed the phone and told John. Afterwards, he had sat in a darkened room and had put his head in his hands. He couldn't think straight for a while, and so his mind had drifted off in random directions.

He remembered how ages ago, he had watched John stride off in a determined fashion to eject Houghton from the post performance party which had celebrated the performance of "The Creation." He could sense from George's manner how unwelcome the man was, that his offstage presence jarred that sense of unity of feeling amongst both performers and audience. It was on Tuesday morning that had seen this same man, standing in the back row, watching blank faced as he came to give them all a pep talk, and stake his claim to set his foot on their backs as lord and master of them all. Everything that he had heard of him, since the performance of 'The Creation' was proved to the hilt. As he watched the man's mouth open and close meaninglessly, he couldn't help wondering and worrying if he had ever talked and thought like him.

Fortune somehow extracted some use from the ministerial visit. It was a lucky coincidence that saw him walk past the open door of Alison Warner's office and heard Houghton's unmistakable tones. "Larkhall Prison. Make that urgent. I don't care if your staff are overworked. I want it done now." He snapped, the phone jammed against his ear, while Alison Warner looked on obsequiously. While he waited for the response, Grayling stepped out of sight. "Staff, what would you do with them? At least if I book up a meal at the Ivey, they'll stay open for me, no matter when I turn up"  
"Friday then? OK, but I'm not very pleased. It's up to you inspectors to get the results that I want, if you know what's good for you"  
Grayling shot back out of sight as their gaze started to turn in his direction. With practiced ease, he trod silently and smoothly away from them back to his office, his face impassive in self-protection from anyone he might bump into.

It was an ordinary Tuesday when Karen sat back in her office. She had just finished doing Frances Myers' appraisal, and reflected on her military style of running her wing in contrast with Nikki's. She was smoking a cigarette prior to setting to work on her PC. Just then, the phone rang.  
"Why, Neil." Her face broke into a smile, as that well-remembered voice sounded in her ear. "It's nice to hear from you"  
"I'm afraid it won't be, Karen, when I've told you the news. I'm tipping you off that the prison inspectors are coming to visit you this Friday," hissed Grayling.  
"But why haven't I been told of this?" Karen stammered slightly, her wits scattered.  
"Officially, this is classed as a follow up inspection of that calamitous occasion four years ago when Sylvia was wing governor, can you believe it?" "For that reason, no pre warning is necessary." Grayling's bitter tones resounded in her ear." In reality, our new home secretary Neil Houghton has ordered it to stitch your prison up"  
"Some follow up. A bit late don't you think"  
"You can say that again"  
"But there's absolutely nothing for them to find"  
"As far as you know, Karen. You need to make absolutely sure. He has ordered them personally to turn in a bad report on your prison. Think carefully, Karen. Just make sure that you cover your back. I'm relying on you." The line went dead all of a sudden. Karen guessed that there was danger at hand on the other end of the line. She had to break off what she was doing and call her wing governors together, but couldn't in all conscience burden them with the wider political game. All she could do was to lay it on the line with them that they had to be especially sharp in the way they conducted themselves, and show the Home Office how a well-run prison operated. For the life of her, she couldn't see how they could write a damaging report and it bothered her. There must be something that she was missing. The cigarette smouldered away between her fingers as she sat, deep in thought.

"So what happens? I'm new to this game." Nikki enquired, after Karen retired to her room to write up Frances' appraisal. The wing governors stayed behind, sat round the long rectangular table, mulling over the implications of Karen's words and, in particular, to 'look surprised' when they call. Karen had been far too matter of fact to Nikki in her announcement of the news, as if she was pointedly avoiding sounding alarmist.  
"We get this gaff cleaned up from top to bottom for a start." Frances declared tersely, and there was a murmur of assent to the obvious course of action.  
"I don't know about the rest of you, but my wing has nothing to fear from any inspectors"  
"Yeah, let them come, and go away and report a success story," chimed in another governor.  
Nikki started to feel irritated with the drift of conversation, which was starting to turn into a turgid and formless game of one-upmanship and self-congratulation. This wasn't what was needed right now. Alarm bells rang in her mind of the three years that she'd been here the other side of the prison bars, there was not one sign of any inspectors. The nearest thing to that was the fashion-show all those years ago that, in her circuitous way, she had got cancelled for G wing and then later restored. It struck her as a savage irony that especially before Helen's time at Larkhall, this place was riddled with abuses from top to bottom and corruption was systematic. A sharp-eyed inspection team could have exposed the abuses for what they were if they knew what to look out for. Now, after all these years, they were turning up here after all the hard work done to clean the place up, in moral terms. Getting the Julies to slosh water around with mops and buckets struck her as a token effort but she supposed that she would have to go along with this charade. At least it was harmless.  
"Just why are they coming"  
"Search me. They come like London busses, either in droves or not at all. Who knows what goes on in the minds of the Home Office?" yawned the man the opposite side of the long table in complete disinterest. "Hang on a minute, are there any areas that we could be pulled up on"  
"It's a turn up for the book for you to admit that G wing isn't perfect." cut in one of the more cynical wing governors, who was content to see this wash over him.  
"Nikki's right. Instead of giving ourselves all pats on the back and telling ourselves that we walk on water, why not trying to work out where our weak points might be? Karen was saying in not so many words that they might be looking for bad news if you'd only bothered to listen"  
"I wasn't around the last time the inspectors visited. Someone remind us all what happened"  
"There was a total cock-up on G wing. Your friend Sylvia was prancing around trying to confiscate crisps and chocolate, after it turned out that some clever Charlene had fiddled the personal spends computer to add up rather than take away. Oh yes, Maxi Purvis's dead body, all wrapped up in bin liners, rolled out on the chapel floor in full view of the inspectors. After this, things only got better." The more they talked, the more the stuck record was repeating itself.  
"This doesn't add up. Either this is just a routine inspection, in which case we have basically nothing to fear or else this is a set up. We've got a new 'hang them and flog them' Home Secretary, but I can't work out why he should have it in for our prison. I can't see how he could set us up unless there's something we're missing"  
The meeting rambled on for a while longer and fizzled out to a halt. They had business to sort out on their wings.

"You look as if you've got a lot on your mind, Nikki"  
"Eh"  
"And all the prison officers are dead jumpy all of a sudden"  
"Yeah"  
"You ain't listening," came Denny's blunt follow up to Julie Saunders' more polite remark to Nikki as she came to pass the time of day.  
"I'm sorry. I've got something on my mind that's bothering me"  
"A problem shared is a problem solved, that is, if it is something you can talk to us about." Julie Saunders proclaimed. Nikki sighed and looked round the atrium. She was starting to get jumpy about everything that moved on the wing and a few things that didn't. She couldn't get away from the feeling that she was in the frame, even though logic and Karen's appraisal of her had told her how well she had done.  
"We'll go over to your cell." Nikki murmured to the other three.

"I ain't tarting myself up for those stuck up tossers to make the prison look good, not even for you Nikki," was Denny's reaction. "You know what I'm like. I did it once for Yvonne to stop her getting banged up over O'Kane's death and that was enough.  
"I promise you it won't come to that,' Nikki grinned.  
"So, while you're wining and dining all the top nobs, showing them round the servery and the cells, don't we get a look in?" Julie Saunders asked with that questioning expression on her face.  
"I suppose so," came her vague response. She had not thought of that one.  
"Or will they eye up who they might want to give them the old guided tour like in secret. You wouldn't want that evil bitch, Natalie Buxton let loose on them, would you"  
"Why should they pick her out from all the others? It's not as if she's special." "Excuse me, Nikki but all she's got to do is to wear her lowest top and flash her tits at them. You got to admit it, she's got that sort of glamour and pulling power even though it chokes me to admit it"  
"But they are supposed to be professionals"  
"You are and so's Miss Betts, Gina, Dominic and the rest except Bodybag but that don't mean to say that they are. Still, you're bound to know more about them than we do. " New dimensions opened up about the inspection and Nikki started to get worried. She didn't know any more than the others but had just made the false assumption that, just because they were inspectors, they would be no less upright than she was. They were dead right. What she couldn't work out was how she had never spotted that one. She went off straight away in search of Gina.

Ken was on the gate, his manner as impassive as always. Inwardly, he was jumpy, having been tipped off that a couple of staff inspectors were going to call, but with no more details. He was nervous in case his tie wasn't quite straight, but far more at the prospect of putting on an act of appearing to be totally taken by surprise. The thought made him acutely self conscious, not helped by his painful awareness that he was no actor. The minutes ticked by in a way that felt like hours and his ears were trained on the sounds of any approaching cars. He had had three false alarms so far this morning.

Suddenly, while his attention was wandering, two smart suited men casually strolled up to him as if they owned the place and flashed their ID at him. The pictures of Mr. Simpson and Mr. Traynor announced themselves with as much authority as their physical presence.  
"You've come to see the Governor, I suppose"  
"We've come to do more than this. We're from the Home Office, and we've come to do a snap inspection of everything from the lightning conductor to the basement." The elder of the two men said in steel hard tones.  
"You mean you're here to do an inspection on the prison"  
"Got it in one. You'll rise high in the prison service with brains like yours," the younger man retorted sarcastically. "You'd better sign in and I'll phone up the governor. I suppose I'll be seeing you around"  
"Don't worry you will. You're first down on the list to check over security as soon as we can get to you"  
Ken gulped. He was not ambitious but least of all would he have wanted to be in Miss Betts shoes even if his feet had fitted them. 


	163. Chapter 163

A/N: Notes (1) Bad Girls- The Official Site Library - Fact sheet on prison inspections compiled by the Centre for Crime and Justice Studies (2) Home Office/ HMI Prisons Homepage -sample prison inspection report

Part One Hundred and Sixty Three

On the other side of the phone from Ken, Karen had been doing some last minute revision on the details of prison inspections. She had had experience over the years at different levels of what the nuts and bolts were, but never in the driving seat. It was Sylvia and Neil who had had that experience which was ironical in terms of where fate had taken both her and them.

Her gut root reaction to Grayling's tip-off was that how on earth could they justify this visit as a 'follow up' to the disastrous inspection four years back, especially as Larkhall had changed out of recognition, both in terms of style and personnel. There was simply nothing to compare it to and the inspectors were in a false position from day one. Nevertheless, she knew enough to suppose cynically enough that they would finagle their way through that one. She had bitten the bullet and had religiously done her research. Looking through their eyes, she would say that in their rough and ready fashion, they should come out pretty well. She tapped in the following notes from the way she conceived of their perceptions of their role.

The way prisoners are treated The quality of the regime including opportunities for prisoners to work or receive education How the prison prepares prisoners for release The morale of prisoners and staff The quality of health care How the prison is managed and whether it is good value for money The physical conditions of the buildings

She had to admit that Larkhall prison was basically a 'souped up' and continually patched up Victorian prison, and it would never get any gold stars for its architecture. Whether it was 'good value for money' was something that she was not greatly concerned with, as she wasn't a bloody chartered accountant, only someone, who had learned on the job to work her way round a balance sheet. Where Larkhall ought to score high was the way it treated both staff and inmates. Nikki's education projects should fit the bill of "purposeful activities." She had to admit that a number of the red band jobs wouldn't exactly lead to formal professional qualifications. She could imagine the look of incredulity on Julie Saunders face if she was told she would become a 'professional bog cleaner and cook' with letters after her name On the other hand, she knew that the Personal Officer system worked fine, not so much because it was formally advertised but because the prison officers had credibility with the prisoners. She knew very well that it hadn't always been that way. The same could be said about primary healthcare, when she compared the very caring and conscientious Dr Waugh with the lazy, incompetent and uncaring Dr Nicholson, or Dr No No as he was rightly known amongst the prisoners. She had to admit that the 'simple induction booklet' could do with updating but she was conscious that the spoken word covered far more grounds than vague mission statements. If she was pressed on the question, was there an 'anti bullying strategy or coordinator' she would have to frankly admit that there wasn't anything written down on paper. It was just that there was an ingrained readiness on all sides to not let it happen in the first place, and a willingness to intervene quickly should it start. What made her weary was the language in which the reports were phrased. Her head hurt when she read that "the education department should promote diversity and equal opportunities through visual displays, learning materials and other coursework…..that management information systems should be improved to ensure that individual progress is monitored, and to assist with a needs assessment for education and training across the establishment……." When she struggled hard enough, she could get the drift of what they were on about, but she was sure that the same sense could be put over in simpler language. All in all, she was ready to let them all come when a rather nervous Ken finally phoned through to her.  
"Come in," she greeted them pleasantly enough, although one swift glance told them that they were not coming in a spirit of friendship. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

After the polite preliminaries, the older of the two men, Eric Simpson took charge and revealed his hand with his take on brutal honesty.  
"As your prison has been lying low for a bit, we thought that we ought to look it over, Karen"  
"Well, I have no problem with that although you might find your visit rather dull"  
"You don't mind if we explore the prison thoroughly and go through all your records. We've got a lot of work to do in a short space of time"  
"I know that my prison officers are flexible enough to deal with any demands on their time," came Karen's smooth as syrup reply with her broadest smile. Instantly, it jumped into her mind that this rush job was rather suspicious. However, she wasn't going to let them think that they had rattled her. "……so long as you have time enough to finish the job. I assume that this is a follow up visit to the main inspection four years ago and you will find that times have changed"  
"We'll start with the gatehouse and the security on the gatehouse. You've had a track record of prisoners walking or driving out of the gate, so we might as well start there first," came the stern answer just as Nikki slid into the room. She suppressed a wry smile as she remembered that, once, she was just such a prisoner but only a very select few were aware of the fact.  
"Excuse me, Karen, but there's a car parked outside with all the lights left on. It's a silver grey Audi which none of us drive. We weren't sure if some perfect strangers came and dumped it"  
The prison inspector inwardly cursed his over-eagerness and stomped out of the room leaving his colleague feeling out of place.  
"Might I ask you where you're visiting first?" "Ask my boss when he's back, came the sheepish answer.  
"Nikki, you carry on and do what you're supposed to be doing. When there are any developments, I'll phone you in the PO's room"  
Karen had to hand it to Nikki as she made a discreet exit. Her entrance was as quiet, low-key and discreet as any diplomat.

"What do you reckon to them, Nikki?" "Complete bastards"  
Frances grinned at the other woman's frankness but the expression rapidly faded. The next few hours could decide a lot for their future no matter how good you were and how benign the inspectors appeared. "Where do you think they'll strike first"  
"Am I starting to get paranoid, Frances, when a little voice inside me tells me that I'm first on the list after Karen and that isn't out of favouritism"  
"What the hell have we done to have them down on our necks"  
"Just by being here."

Karen sighed to herself as they moved off, and zeroed in on Ken. She worried for him and hoped that he'd stand up to the questioning. She carried on with her work for a little while, but neither her mind nor her heart was in the job. Idly, she looked for distraction from it, and turned to the blurb about staff inspections. Instantly, the line jumped into Karen's mind that 'prisoners and detainees can speak to inspectors in confidence." The question was, which prisoners? They had said nothing about this but that didn't mean that this wasn't on their agenda. She made her way towards G Wing very fast.

At the same time, precisely the same thought occurred to Nikki as she spotted the inspectors making their way towards her, just as the prisoners were coming down the staircases for breakfast. All of a sudden, the reality behind the Julies suspicions hit Nikki like a ton of bricks. This was their only serious weakness, and it was that sly bitch Natalie Buxton. She was out there on the front table, her blond hair curled at the edges, her complexion somehow tanned and dressed in her low cut top, smiling invitingly at the older inspector. All this time, Nikki had kept her brand of malicious vengefulness contained. This was her chance to get payback on her.

Julie Saunders took one look at the expression on Nikki's face, and came to the rescue. "Bangers and mash for the gents with fried eggs, sunny side up. You just got to have a taste of home cooking if you're going to inspect this prison proper. Eat like the girls have to eat, mister"  
"Yeah, try our cooking.' Echoed Julie Johnson.  
"I can definitely assure you that the Julies' cooking is not to be missed. Not as good as the Ivey but it won't make so much of a hole in your pocket. Plain, wholesome food. You can't beat it." Nikki chimed in cheerily, noticing out of the corner of her eye, the flash of irritation on Natalie's face. Karen smiled at Nikki's hard sell, and sensed that whatever Nikki was up to, was something she should leave in her capable hands.  
"Well, we hadn't quite planned on this." "Oh, but you must." Julie Saunders urged at her most childlike.  
They could not gainsay the background sounds of urging voices and the Julies winning ways. They found themselves sat at a table, complete with freshly washed serviette and the Julies presented the meal with as much ceremonial flourishes as they could summon up. The inspectors looked dubiously at the meal set out in front of them, and wondered at the cholesterol level but gingerly started to pick at the meal. It turned out to be surprisingly tasty in a basic, exotic working-class fashion.  
"Cup of tea, sir. Two sugars." Julie Saunders commented rather than asked.  
"No, no. No sugar for me." "You ain't slimming, are you?" Julie Johnson asked in a motherly fashion.  
There was a general explosion of light-hearted laugh at Julie's rather misplaced maternal instinct coming out in this setting. The prison officers and especially Karen and Nikki had to work hard to suppress their natural inclination to let a huge grin split their faces from ear to ear, especially because of the build up of tension.

"We have much enjoyed this excellent meal," Mr. Simpson proclaimed, "and as a reward, we would like to interview one of you to give in confidence, her honest views of the running of this prison. Can we have one volunteer to put up her hand"  
Denny sat on the side and she could see how tense Nikki was becoming as the inspector was speaking. Wing governor though she might be, she looked more imprisoned by the system than when she was a con. They exchanged glances. "Can we make that two, sir?" Denny called out as she raised her arm just after Natalie Buxton. "And us, sir. Oh go on." The Julies called out as a split second later, they followed suit. "I'm glad that there are women here that are not backward at coming forward." Nikki found her voice at last. With her best appearance of nonchalance that she could summon up, she started to thread her way through the very delicate situation.  
"I welcome it as, after all, what have we to fear"  
Julie Saunders looked with narrowed eyes in Nikki's direction. She knew Nikki of old, and she was doing a fine job of controlling her feelings.  
"Perhaps it would make the best use of your time to see them together as a group." Karen intervened from the back, "……..and it would give you a reasonable cross section of views. I could provide a prison officer as security if you have any fears, unless you feel that it would breach confidentiality."

Both women could sense a flash of irritation in the man's eyes. He was being delicately railroaded into his least favourite option, yet he could not find a reason why he could publicly refuse. Eventually he gave in with bad grace. "OK, we'll run with that but I think we can dispense with your prison officer. It might inhibit proper expression of the prisoner's views. I'll phone you when we've finished, Miss Betts"  
"Just as you say. Nikki, can you escort everyone to the largest interview room." Karen suavely replied. before pitching up her voice to address the wing." Everyone else is on normal activities in ten minutes time, after you've finished your breakfast. I might remind you that the inspectors may be popping in from time to time, depending on their schedule."

Nikki could not remember afterwards how she managed to lead them all to the right room in the rabbit warren, even though she had walked that way plenty of times. She mumbles appropriate civilities at them all before moving off down the corridor. Their future lay in the hands of Denny and the Julies.

"Well, I won't beat about the bush. We want to hear from the bottom up, what makes G Wing tick from you, the prisoners. Just to give some structure to the meeting, I'll write up some key words on the very convenient white board and give you a chance to focus your thoughts"  
"It's like being back at school, Ju"  
"When I was there, Ju"  
They had developed to a fine art, the knack of whispering out of the corners of their mouth unheard by the average screw, much less than some inspector with his back to them. Even Natalie was oblivious to them. They all watched the man write in bold capitals the words.  
MUTUAL RESPECT 1. BETWEEN PRISONERS 2. BETWEEN PRISONS AND PRISON OFFICERS 

HEALTH CARE

FAIRNESS

Natalie was the first to jump in with both feet, determined to make the most of her chances. "Well, if there's one thing about this prison, it ain't fair. Not only are us prisoners discriminated against but even some of the prison officers. It all depends on if your face fits. If it does, you're in. If it doesn't, there is nothing you can say to defend yourself"  
"You what?" Denny intervened, her forehead corrugated with incredulity. The problem was that she had trouble getting her head round this pack of lies.  
"Can there be a demonstration of respect between us, so that no one is interrupted. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Please continue"  
"Natalie Buxton. Well, I've been definitely frozen out by our Miss Wade and I have a pretty good idea why. I get the feeling that she fancies me even when I've made it clear that I'm not interested. Well, after that, I've not been given a chance to go for classes in book keeping. It's something that I always wanted to do but I get fobbed off by excuses"  
"What about the other prison officers, Natalie?" Mr. Simpson asked, his eyes fixed on the cleavage much to the other women's disgust.  
"Well, they just follow Miss Wade. They know what's good for them except Miss Barker who didn't fit in. She was given the sack only no one knows exactly why. It's all one big conspiracy." "You're just a lying nonce, Buxton." Julie Johnson burst out in anger at last, unable to hold down her anger at the twisted lies coming out from such falsely painted lips.  
"That's not true. It's just a vicious rumour got up by some of the prisoners who have got it in for me. It just goes to show how bigoted some people can get." Natalie Buxton retorted with a sweet smile. Julie Saunders' mind was thinking furiously. Best not to rise to the bitch. Her bit of legal training told her to not let her wind her, but just watch out for when to nail her.  
"Carry on Natalie"  
"Well, all I've ever done here is to stuff envelopes while her favourites get to go on education classes. I've got something to give society and that's all I get"  
While the Julies and Denny fumed silently, Mr. Simpson continued to let Natalie Buxton spew her carefully sugared poison in a calculated fashion. "Excuse me, but don't we get a look in." Julie Saunders eventually enquired. It was the simple choice of speaking or bursting in frustration.  
"All in good time"  
"Not while she's been telling you a pack of lies, and you've got other places to go. We just want equal time to set the record straight." Julie Saunders retorted in firmer tones.  
"When we've finished with Natalie, we'll talk to you." the man glared.  
The confrontation was building to the point when Julie Saunders did not know if she could push her luck further. Suddenly, there came salvation from a polite knock on the door and Gina Rossi poked her head round the door. She gave the crowd her dazzling smile, while she took in at a glance just what was going on. It crossed both Karen and Nikki to offer them hospitalities, and to check for whatever was going on behind closed doors.  
"Miss Betts was wondering if you would like a cup of tea." Gina started to say, when Julie Saunders interrupted with a flow of pent up emotion.  
"Thank Gawd you're here. Buxton, I dare you to say before a straight up honest witness, the lies you've been telling about Nikki. According to her, Nikki's had it in for you because she'd given her the brush off"  
Gina laughed long and loud at the rage twisted features beneath her. They may be important persons with power but she couldn't take them seriously for being such suckers. "Nikki wouldn't touch you with a bargepole not when she's got her Helen. Are there any more porkies that I should hear"  
"There's been loads of them, Gina. You should hear them." Denny put in at last. "The inspection demands prisoner confidentiality. Without it, the results will be tainted." "By the bleeding truth. Confidentiality be blowed. If we want Gina here, who's complaining, except Buxton? It's obvious she's been taking you for a ride." "It looks as if I'm not allowed to leave. Mind if I draw up a chair"  
"Our pleasure," beamed the Julies in unison.  
"Skimpiest top I've seen you wear for ages, Buxton. I wonder why." Gina grinned scornfully. "….and all dolled up, just ready for the visitors."

After Gina fixed up a pot of tea, Natalie refused point blank while Gina shrugged her shoulders. The bitch had gone into a sulk as things hadn't gone her way.  
"All the screws, I mean prison officers are straight up, fair and dead honest"  
"It sounds like a five star hotel with all the trimmings." Mr. Simpson retorted scornfully. "I find that rather far fetched"  
"Prison's prison." Julie Saunders retorted. "I'd sooner be with my son David and Ju here could find her kids but if we have to be here"  
Gina sat back while Julie Saunders dominated the room with her force of personality. It was a sight to watch. "……..If you have to be in prison and be locked up every night and not be able to come and go as you please, then this is as good as it gets. That's because nearly all the girls are nice enough and we look out for each other, with a few exceptions…..." and here, she glared at Natalie. "……and Nikki most of all is as fair and as kind hearted as you can get"  
"Especially when……." Denny started to say, when Julie Johnson frowned at her to stop. The kid meant well but surely she could see how they'd steered away talking about when Nikki was here last time. That was an obvious bleeding trap and Denny's just walked into it.  
"When what"  
"Surely you know that Nikki did time for taking out that rapist of a policeman who was all set to rape her girlfriend. It was a miscarriage of justice and the courts finally said so.  
After all, you should know because you're inspectors from the Home Office, ain't you"  
There was no holding Julie Saunders back, and the other women made good back up for her. Natalie Buxton was clearly sidelined. The two men were quite frankly out of their depth. They were used to deferential prisoners who were overawed by their position and status or alternatively, were polite to their face. They were not used to bold as brass women who called a spade a spade or alternatively a bloody shovel.

"Prisoner diversity forum?" Kristin repeated with incredulity when Mr. Simpson came to inspect her cell. "Well, I suppose we're diverse enough. It's just that we get along"  
"At one time, we had Crystal who's a bible basher and black, Monica who's dead posh but all right, just like Babs, Denny and her partner Shaz, that spiky haired punk, Yvonne who's a mum with kids who's into fellas, while Roison's got kids with her partner Cassie…….prisoner diversity?" Julie Saunders followed on in a reminiscent mood. "The only thing we can't stand is anyone who tries to take us for a ride and bullies anyone weaker. That answer you"  
The Julie's cell was definitely like home from home within the claustrophobic constraints of the tiny, whitewashed cell. They made their way to the next port of call, their luck and time running out fast.

Finally, they were relieved at the end to get out and peer round the visitor's room, noting the odd lick of paint that had been overlooked, a sample of the claustrophobic cells, the state of the library and the internal records. They found the minor faults and imperfections as Karen had anticipated but nothing much to get their teeth into. Just what they were going to write up when they got back to the ranch, they did not know what to think as Larkhall was ticking along far too comfortably for Neil Haughton's liking. 


	164. Chapter 164

Part One Hundred and Sixty Four

It was as if Yvonne had discovered a missing part of herself that she hadn't realized that she had lost. The sudden arrival of Bell into her house lent purpose to her life.

Lauren's face had brightened immediately the first moment she laid eyes on Bell. She might have been expected to react unfavourably to a dog that was taking Trigger's place, the faithful Alsatian that she had grown up with but she hadn't. Without saying it in so many words, she had let herself grieve for Trigger's passing, and allowed let fresh sunlight into her life. She enthusiastically set to work with Yvonne to train the very playful, puppyish Bell into their ways of living, free from their past.

Yvonne noted this quietly, and was grateful for the serenity of the months that had passed since Lauren's discharge from prison last August. She had conscientiously attended the regular sessions with the psychiatrist, who had worked with her to ensure that all the choices that she could make in her life would stay open for her. She had come to feel to the bottom of her soul how those tenacious were those primeval Atkins instincts that had been laid down. This wasn't an intellectual exercise like going to a lesson at school. She was part of the lesson , and gave her that breadth of perspective. She found out that she had to live and feel and breathe the changes that she was going through. She accepted that there might be moments in her life when she might feel threatened or vulnerable that she might revert to type. She learnt that her immediate off the cuff remarks said more about her than she realized. Whatever the future faced for her, she was open to facing it fair and square. All this was something that Yvonne gathered from brief snatches of conversations and little indications in the way that she behaved. Her reaction to Bell was one of them.

She looked out of her living room window as, each passing day, spring was making its uncertain progress. The days of fine blue clear skies were brushed aside by sudden squalls of biting wind and grey clouds but all the time, the buds were beginning to appear on the bare twigs and branches of the trees at the bottom of their garden. For so many months, they had etched a bleak tracery pattern in the grey sky at a time when the seasons were in hiding, in retreat. Soon, the full force of the sun would come out to play, and the trees would be covered with leaves. The sun would dazzle her eyes as reflected off the waters of her swimming pool.

Yvonne and Lauren chose Sunday morning to take a long stroll round the garden. It only took the magical word 'walk' for Bell to bound to her feet pirouetting in circles round and round in circles. Bright eyed, she led the way for Yvonne and Lauren to laughingly follow them. She sat down on the front door mat, looking expectantly at them. Once outside the door, she and the two humans felt free.

A clear cool breeze ruffled their hair, but the sun was brighter than they had thought. They blinked their eyes as the sun leaned down on them. Nothing was said but the three of them headed out onto the lawn, as it was the obvious place to go. The grass felt solid under their feet, as solid as the foundations beneath their lives and the large certainty of their house. Bell scampered ahead of them without a care in the world.

While Lauren ran ahead of her on the lawn to catch up and laugh and play with Bell, Yvonne slipped into a dreamily reminiscent mood. Her free floating thoughts wended their way to John who had been instrumental, via his free spirited if sometimes tactless daughter, in bringing this simple happiness to her. What they had in common was the bringing up of a daughter and their incredibly strong ties to their offspring. It didn't surprise Yvonne in the least that John's passion for justice and his waywardness would have taken the form in Charlie that it did. John seemed happy enough, if a little embarrassed to admit how come Bell came into his possession in the first place but he had that ability to tolerate and understand that Charlie would never have learnt in a lifetime. That quality had certainly done wonders to put her own family on its feet. Her memory for words said and deeds done was very extensive but she had treasured his words to her at the end of Lauren's trial.

"You are perhaps, one of the most loyal, caring, utterly devoted mothers I have ever had the pleasure to meet, so I know you can do that. Now, go home, gather all your friends around you, and get on with your life." 

Well, she could lay claim to having managed that, all right. She had made her break from the past, smoothly and effortlessly enough. That was easy enough as she had control over her life but it was quite another matter for her daughter to have done the same. In the old days, Charlie had bent everyone to his will by that deadly mixture of charm and ruthless force so that everyone did what he wanted. If she was to root that out of her own family, she could hardly revert to type if persuasion did not work. She couldn't manage other people's lives and thoughts by remote control and so it took much more patience.

It was curious the way that John would periodically crop up in her life, in particular the way that he had appeared out of the blue once when they were walking in the park and they had slept with each other. She lived with the certainty that, sometimes her friends were out of reach, doing other things, but time and chance would bring them together. She wondered idly what he was doing with his life and hoped that the sort of good fortune that he had bestowed on her family would remain with him. 


	165. Chapter 165

A/N: The line of religious text that John speaks, comes from Psalm 32 from The Old Testament. Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Sixty Five

It was the evening of Wednesday the Third of May, with the sun beaming down on the city of London, accompanied by a soft, gentle breeze. But as John crossed the car park and entered the doors of the clinic where he went to see Helen, he could feel that his entire soul was weighing him down, crushing any contentment he might have felt, and making him wonder just why his psyche persisted in doing this to him. He had felt like this all day, intermittently craving his meeting with Helen as it might provide him with something of an outlet, and alternatively dreading it for precisely the same reason. Why did he keep coming here, he continuously asked himself? But the answer seemed forever to be allusive, hiding from him, until perhaps Helen would drag it to the fore, to be examined and questioned under the spotlight. 

"You look a bit preoccupied today, Judge," Helen said when he'd sat down in his usual chair opposite to her. John's reaction was immediate. "Why do you always have to see straight through any facade I might attempt to cultivate?" "Because it's my job to do that," Helen replied calmly, seeing that she'd definitely struck a chord with her skill of observation. "Part of what I need to do with anyone I see in a professional context," She continued. "Is to try to get to the truth behind what a patient may be feeling." John remained quiet, clearly trying to subdue his swiftly rising anger towards her, if not towards the entire world. "Why're you so angry?" She asked quietly. "I'm sorry," He replied. "It's just been one of those days." "Did you have a bad time in court?" Helen asked, wanting to get to the bottom of his unusual display of fury. "No, not especially," He said, wishing that he had the power to lie a little more convincingly, which might have helped him to avoid telling her the truth. "So, what's made you so furious with the rest of humanity? Or am I just a privileged exception?" "Something I've discovered over the months I've been coming to see you," he began carefully, not as yet attempting to answer her question. "Is that part of me has come to dread these sessions, because revealing my innermost thoughts to anyone, no matter someone who has been trained to analyse every word, is something that I would usually avoid at all costs. Yet I am forced to remind myself that it was my choice to come here in the first place, which was possibly one of the most stupid decisions I have ever made. But sometimes, this room feels like a haven, somewhere I don't have to be afraid of expressing what I feel." "And which is it today?" Helen asked, never having heard such an articulate description of a session with herself. "I'm not sure," He was forced to admit. "Because I am itching to do something really stupid, something so reckless that it might just get me impeached, and yet I am also terrified of being here, because if you persist in your ambition to completely obliterate any emotional armour I might possess, today you may just achieve your goal." Helen stared at him for a moment. The realisation had hit her right between the eyes, that if he thought she had him worked out, he had certainly done a number on her psyche and above all her intentions towards him as a patient. 

"Okay," She said after a moment's thought. "Let's take this one at a time. Tell me what is so terrifying to you, if you take your assessment of my overall ambition for you to be correct." When he didn't answer, she said, "Just what are you scared of?" "I think," He replied with a heavy sigh. "That I am afraid of admitting to possessing feelings that I know I shouldn't have." "And why has this all come to a head today?" "Today is the forty-sixth anniversary of my mother's death." Suddenly, everything became clear to Helen. Well, he might just be right, she thought to herself, today might just be the day she would manage to penetrate his emotional armour. "You know, Judge," She said, looking him straight in the eye. "I might understand what you're currently feeling better than you think I do." Regarding her thoughtfully, John understood what she was telling him. "I didn't know," he said quietly. "How old were you?" "Not much older than you were," She told him regretfully. "When my mum died, all the love in that house seemed to disappear overnight." "Do you still see your father?" "Not often. He thinks I'm doing a pretty pointless job for even more pointless people, and he certainly doesn't approve of Nikki. But we're supposed to be talking about you, not me. I sometimes get the impression that your unresolved feelings about your mother's death, are what govern the way you deal with feelings of any kind. Am I right?" "Probably," He replied with a slight smile. "Any feelings I had at the time had to be forcefully buried. Feelings weren't really permitted in that house after she died, because it was easier for my father to cut them out of our lives than to deal with them." "This will undoubtedly be very difficult for you," Helen suggested carefully. "But I would like you to try and tell me what you did feel when you found out how she'd died." Before he embarked on what felt like his final journey on Earth, John took a moment to examine the truth about what he had felt, and to some extent still felt, attempting as he did so to put them into a clinically straightforward context, and to surround the emotions associated with his feelings with the strongest most formidable barrier he could swiftly construct. 

"When my sister and I returned from school, my father was sitting in the lounge waiting for us. I think I knew that something bad had happened, because the house somehow felt very different, as though a presence was missing. When he tried to explain to us that mum had died, I didn't believe him, or didn't want to believe him. I asked him how, and he couldn't at first answer me, but even at the age of ten I was somewhat persistent. I wouldn't leave the question alone because I had to know. When he said that she'd killed herself, my sister cried, but I was just stunned. I don't think I quite understood why someone would seriously consider doing that. I kept trying to work it out, asking myself questions again and again, but finding that I was totally unable to come up with the answers. We all knew that she'd been depressed for some time, but I think I still naively thought that if she loved us, she wouldn't do anything that would take her away from us." "Were you angry with her for leaving you?" Helen asked softly, seeing that her attempt to break away his barriers was gradually beginning to work. "It wasn't her fault," John insisted, his expression showing the pain that he still obviously felt. "When people are depressed, for whatever reason, they make decisions that are as clear as day to them, but which don't make the slightest bit of sense to the rest of us." "That's not what I asked," Helen persisted quietly. "I asked how you felt about what your mother did, not what you think you should have felt. Nothing you might have felt towards your mother after something like that could possibly be in any way wrong, because you, your sister and your father, had just received the biggest shock that any relative can receive. She wasn't there to tell you why, or to reassure you that it wasn't because of anything that either of you had done. If you were angry with her for leaving you, she wouldn't have held it against you, nobody would." John's whole body stiffened, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, because he could feel the tide of emotions rising up in him, trying their damnedest to get out after all this time of being concealed and subdued. He forcefully bit down on his lip to stop himself from saying any more, from actually putting voice to the corrosive torture that had lived inside him for the past forty-six years. 

"You need to let it out, John," Helen cajoled him quietly. "If you want to be able to find any reprieve from the torment you're going through right now, you need to put in to words, all the thoughts that are currently whizzing round behind your eyes. I can see some of them from here, but you need to tell me what they are.  
"I can't," John replied eventually, the tightness in his throat almost cutting off his speech. "Why?" Helen asked, seeing the battle going on inside him. "Because what I did feel, what I still do feel is wrong," John told her, feeling his resistance against her probing beginning to slip, beginning to tear any hint of emotional restraint away from him. "If I loved her as much as I think I did," He tried to explain, though every instinct was telling him to get up and run as fast as possible away from here, away from this woman who was trying to break him into a dozen pieces. "I would be able to accept that she wasn't in her right mind when she made that decision, and I would be able to reassure myself that if she hadn't been as depressed as she was, she would never have been able to leave her husband and children in the way that she did." "The process of grieving and the feelings associated with it are never rational, you know," Helen tried to reassure him, though she could see that it was a pretty futile attempt. When the words finally burst out of him, they were no surprise to Helen, though she could see why he had tried to bury them all these years. "I couldn't forgive her for doing what she did," He said, his voice not remotely steady. "Before I grew up enough to understand what the word depression actually meant, I was furious with her for leaving us, for making that final decision to leave our family incomplete. Part of me couldn't bear being in that house a moment longer than necessary, and part of me didn't ever want to leave it, for fear that I might forget all the things that had made her my mother. I couldn't take my eyes off the empty chair at the table, or the empty armchair in the lounge, or the empty hook in the hall where she used to hang her coat. I sometimes raged at her because I thought that the way my father cut himself off from us was all her fault." "How did this manifest itself?" Helen asked, almost not wanting to break in on his undoing, because she didn't want to distract him from journeying the rockiest road he had ever travelled. "Fights at school usually," He admitted without any hesitation. "It was far too easy to retaliate when those at Eaton chose to mock my working class accent. I think I wanted her to explain to me why killing herself had been the right thing to do, which she obviously couldn't." "And why was that so wrong?" "Because she didn't deserve my anger," John insisted, the tears now running unchecked down his face. "Whilst she was alive, she was the most loving mother any child could have wanted. Her family was her entire life, nothing mattered to her as much as we did. But ever since her death, I haven't been able to get passed the fact that she actually chose to die." "And how do you think this might have affected your relationships with women for the whole of your adult life?" "I think that I tend to leave women before they leave me," He replied, digging for a handkerchief to wipe his face. "Because I couldn't bear being left in the same way again. I've almost forbidden myself to get to the stage where I might fall in love with so many women, as a way of protecting myself from being hurt quite so thoroughly again, though both Jo and George seemed to have successfully bypassed that rule. On the few occasions that George has been in danger of killing herself, it has terrified me beyond measure. I don't want to contemplate what it would do to me if Jo ever followed that instinct." At the voicing of this utterly terrible thought, John's eyes clouded over, the fear of this one-day happening penetrating his every pore. Helen observed the shock as this fear took hold, the prospect that his beautiful, loving Jo might one day leave him causing his entire brain to seize up under the onslaught. 

Helen watched him for a while, seeing the torment battling for supremacy behind his eyes. Eventually, she decided that something had to be done, if she was going to ensure that he was taken care of once he left her consulting room. "John," she said, breaking in on his contemplation of what would be the greatest horror of his life, but he didn't respond. Getting up from her chair, she sat down in one next to him, and gently rested a hand on his shoulder, waiting until his eyes came to rest on her. "John, I need to tell someone that you're here, because I would be failing in my duty if I allowed you to go home to an empty flat, feeling the way you do." "Is that absolutely necessary?" He asked, his voice feeling overused and far too brittle for his liking. "Yes," Helen told him simply. "Who would you prefer it to be?" After a moment's thought, he said, "George." "Okay," Helen said, getting to her feet. "I won't be long." As she went into the outer office, where the receptionist had quite clearly gone home for the day, she sat down behind the desk and picked up the phone, having retrieved her address book before she left. 

When George answered the ringing of her mobile, Helen briefly wondered precisely how she would explain the situation. "George, it's Helen," She said, trying not to sound quite as bleak as she felt. "Helen," George said in surprise. "What can I do for you?" "Where are you?" Helen asked, trying to buy herself a modicum of time. "Sat in a traffic jam on my way home," George told her. "And getting a distinct feeling of deja vu. You sound just like you did when you phoned Karen to tell her about Ross." "I'm sorry," Helen said with feeling. "I don't mean to, but I need you to come to the clinic in Paddington where I work." "Why?" George asked, her fear inexorably rising, as she turned off and started making her way towards Paddington. "Were you aware," Helen asked her slowly. "That John had been coming to see me as a psychology patient for the last few months?" "No, I wasn't," Replied George in gob smacked incredulity. "First of all, don't worry, he is physically absolutely fine. However, he had quite a difficult session this afternoon, and I don't want him going home alone." "All right," George said after trying to take all this in. "Tell me where you are and I'll be there as soon as possible." 

After giving George directions, Helen made John a cup of tea and went back to the consulting room. He was sitting precisely where she'd left him, just staring into space. Putting the tea down on the coffee table in front of him, she said, "I've phoned George and she's on her way." "Thank you," He said, briefly looking up at her but not really taking in what she'd said. When George arrived sometime later, a buzzer on the wall behind her desk let Helen know that someone had entered through the main doors of the clinic. Going out of the room and down the corridor, Helen found George waiting for her in reception. "Hi," She said quietly, going up to her. "I'm still trying to take this in," George told her in greeting. "And I could do with a few answers." "That's no surprise," Helen said, leading the way to a row of seats where the patients usually waited. "Just how long has he been coming to see you?" "Since the middle of October," Helen informed her. Then, seeing the look of shock on George's face, she asked, "Why, is that date in any way significant?" "Oh, god," George said in realisation. "It's significant all right. But if he hasn't told you why, then it certainly isn't my place to do so. So, what brought on today's 'difficult Session'?" She asked, using Helen's own words. "I finally persuaded him to talk about his mum," Helen explained. "Then I'm hardly surprised that he's in a state of shock," George said disgustedly. "Helen, precisely why do you think it has taken me years to persuade him to talk about that particular subject?" She demanded, feeling her anger rising at this woman who had mentally beaten away all of John's emotional armour. "George, he had to do it," Helen insisted vehemently. "Eventually, he had to talk about her." "Well, I hope he agrees with you," George replied a little caustically. "Tell me, was Nikki aware that you were seeing John as a patient?" "No," Helen replied instantly, though she could feel her expression betraying her. Examining her closely, George's anger rose even further. "Might I suggest that you learn to lie a little better if you really want to conceal the truth, because you currently wouldn't fool a ten-year-old, never mind someone who has been ferreting out the truth for the whole of her working life. Do you have any idea just how professional it is for someone in your position to see a friend as a patient? It's almost as unprofessional as having an affair with an inmate in your charge, but let's not forget that you've done that too, haven't you." "What do you want me to say?" Helen asked her bitterly, because she couldn't help admitting to herself that every word George had so far uttered was one hundred percent correct. "Nothing," George replied angrily. "You've so far said and done quite enough for the time being." 

When Helen led the way into the consulting room, George took in John's anguished face, his eyes red from crying, something that shocked her to her core. John never cried, at least not in front of anyone if he could possibly help it. As she walked over to him, his eyes rose to meet hers. All the life in them appeared to be gone, temporarily replaced with the pain that he'd obviously been discussing. When she stood before him, he found his voice, though it didn't bear any ounce of the confidence of his usual tone. "What are you doing here?" He asked, though he had been vaguely aware of Helen saying that she'd phoned George. "I've come to take you home," George told him simply, and when he stood up, she tucked his arm through hers. "Is that all right?" He nodded, not feeling the need for words with one of the women who understood him better than he understood himself. When they reached the car park, George unlocked her car and John got into the passenger seat. Retrieving a delighted Mimi from the back of John's car, George drove them silently home, taking little glances at John every now and then, just to make sure he was really all right. 

When they reached her house, both John and Mimi followed her inside and Mimi watched expectantly as George opened a tin of dog food for her. Going into the lounge, George found John slumped at one end of the sofa, staring into space as though his very existence hardly mattered. "Would you like a drink?" She asked, thinking that his thoughts were far away from where he actually was. "I wouldn't mind a large Scotch," he said, briefly looking up at her. After pouring them both a drink, and opening the French windows so that Mimi could wander in and out at her leisure, George put on some soft music, eventually sitting down next to John and putting her arms round him because she could see that this was what he needed. As he felt her familiar embrace, a slight smile of recognition crossed his face. His right arm went around her, and he rested his face in her hair, taking in the much-loved aroma of perfume and cigarette smoke that seemed to permeate her entire being. They sat there for a considerably long time, neither of them speaking because words were not necessary for the moment. George didn't feel the need to ask questions of him, because she knew that if he wanted to tell her anything about what he'd been doing over the last few months, he would, and that was good enough for her. She was immensely proud of him for starting therapy again, and even more so for his having stuck to it. She knew that she certainly wouldn't have had the courage to do anything of the kind. Her gentle embrace seemed to gradually soothe his shattered nerves, and to return to him some of the contentment he usually felt when he was so close to either her or Jo. She had asked him at one point if he was hungry, but he had answered in the negative. Not feeling the need for food herself, she hadn't moved. 

When they had remained in this position for some three hours or so, he asked, "Will you play for me?" "Of course," She said, disentangling herself from him and moving over to the piano, switching the stereo off on the way. She began playing some Chopin, thinking this music the most likely to penetrate his wounded soul, its soft, gentle sadness always having soothed her own fractured psyche in the past. They were called Nocturnes, she supposed, because their persistent caress was the essence of dreams, because it's purity and temptation towards that half life that dreams usually engendered could call any soul back from the depths of despair. John lay along the length of the sofa, allowing her beautiful playing of Chopin's creations to wash over him, gradually smoothing away some of the roughened edges of his thoughts, each note appearing to contain all the love she had for him. 

When she had played for him for almost an hour, she stopped, thinking that he had perhaps fallen asleep. But as she quietly lowered the lid of the piano, he spoke. "Do you know the lines of the thirty-second psalm?" "Not for purposes of immediate recall, no," She replied, a little surprised by his question but willing to see where he was going with this. "Thou art my hiding place," he began quietly. "Thou preserve me from trouble, thou dost encompass me with deliverance." George sat stunned in the resulting silence, his words having moved her beyond belief. "That's what you've been for me tonight," He clarified for her. "Something I badly needed." Moving over to the sofa, she perched on its edge, gazing down at him as he lay there looking up at her. Gently stroking his cheek, she said, her voice slightly hoarse, "And do you have any idea just how often you've been precisely that for me? You have kept me going, and tried your damnedest to keep me sane when I've been almost fully submerged in a pool of guilt and regret and all the other feelings that have pulled me far too close to the edge over the years. If I can possibly do the same for you after all this time, then I would gladly do it as often as you might require it." He could hear the total sincerity in every word she uttered, and he couldn't help but wonder what he'd done to deserve it. 


	166. Chapter 166

Part One Hundred and Sixty Six

It had been two weeks since the prison inspection and, like the rest of the prison, Nikki was still slightly on edge. The only release from that state of mind would be when the inspector's report was finally released. Even Grayling's finely attuned ears had been unable to pick up any advance indications as to how the report would be drafted and its conclusions. On the face of it, they had nothing to fear and Karen's upbeat messages to her wing governors were devised so that they should just sit tight on the matter. It was in this vein of cautious optimism that Nikki came home from a normal day's work to find Helen home already. One look at her woebegone face rang instant alarm bells. Nikki's concerns over the outcome of the inspection report were instantly scattered to the four winds.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't need to ask you what sort of day you've had"  
Helen was unable to speak and just nodded her head. She stood in the middle of the room like a stone statue. Tension and intense guilt were running all through her body like electricity.  
"Tell me about it, darling." Nikki's soothing voice and her arms wrapped around her, gently coaxed Helen's rigid muscles to take her to the comfort of the sofa. Nikki deliberately held back from talking until Helen was ready, while her slim fingers gently stroked her hair. Helen clung to her for a long time, not wanting to let go.

"All the king's horses and all the king's men Couldn't put Humpty together again."

Nikki was disturbed by the almost child like voice with which Helen finally articulated the words while her face lay on Nikki's shoulder. She waited for a careful instance before replying in careful tones.  
"Who is he? I mean Humpty." "I suppose you've guessed, Nikki." Helen gave in with a long sigh. "John came to my therapy session. I finally got him to talk about his dead mother and I think I pushed him too far…..in fact, so far out that I don't think that he'll ever come back again"  
It was Helen's deliberate yet faltering attempt to control her emotions that scared Nikki. She knew Helen well enough to understand how much she had left out.  
"Is that what you've been trying to get at"  
"John's mother committed suicide when he was little, I think I told you that one….." replied Helen vaguely. Her professional capacity for remembering conversations had gone temporarily awry. After a pause, she carried on with growing intensity of expression in her voice. "……………He's never got over it. He's eaten up with a constant fear of being abandoned, of trusting to and loving someone who will leave him and he has the most incredible tight knit set of defences that I've ever come across. I simply had to get him to face the reality of it to get him to adopt a different way of coping. I fear that I went too far. Certainly when George came to pick him up, that's what she told me……and that I was unprofessional in ever taking him on as a patient in the first place"  
Helen's voice stopped as tears edged her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Nikki continued to comfort her till she had cried it out of her system.  
"So that's the other half of what's upset you?" Nikki gently probed.  
"Her precise words were 'You've so far said and done quite enough for the time being.' She gave me to understand that she knew John far better than I did and that I had blundered into the situation. That hurt." "Because you want to do some good in this world as you have always done"  
"Exactly. That's all I ever wanted to do, both now, when I was at Larkhall and even before that. It has been my guiding light"  
"So the worst that you could be accused of was that you have made a mistake with the best of intentions"  
That remark brought Helen up short. It was exactly what George had said in not so many words but put in a much more sympathetic light. It gave her the sense of release and was far more generous than she had been disposed to treat herself. "How much do you identify with John, Helen? I mean in terms of both of you losing your mothers and the way you both reacted to it"  
"Good question, Nikki." Helen responded immediately and firmly. "We both grew up in households where there was little display of love and affection and suffered the loss of a mother except……that my mother died naturally, if such a thing can be called natural whereas John's mother committed suicide from completely out of the blue. In my case, I had nothing to blame myself for, only that I had lost a feeling of being loved and secure. I really have problems in imagining John's situation from the inside"  
"……and judging by what you've been saying, so does John. That's the difference"  
The tension in Helen's body was easing and waves of tiredness were sweeping over her. She realized that she felt done in by her day at work and just wanted to lie on the sofa with Nikki close to her. That intense feeling of strangulating guilt had started to release its grip on her. "You lie there and I'll fetch you a cup of tea," offered Nikki with the archetypal English solution, while Helen draped herself full length sideways on the sofa. The position felt very therapeutic. Even practicing psychologists needed these occasional chill out devices. Nikki threw her briefcase into the corner of the room. Her day-to-day cares could take a back seat. She hung her coat on a coat hook, which she had totally forgotten about in the crisis, only now becoming aware that it was constricting her. She went into the kitchen and busily prepared a cup of tea for two. By the time she had returned, Helen was half asleep. Her fingers fumbled for the cup and saucer, and sipped at the comforting liquid. Much though she might have gently mocked the idea of the 'nice hot cup of tea', she had to admit it worked in some mysterious way. "There's one thing I'm not quite clear about. Did George know that John was seeing you professionally"  
"When I come to think of it, she didn't"  
"You know that George and John are pretty close. It must have been hard for her to suddenly take in the fact that he was seeing a psychologist. You must admit, those kind of matters are conversation killers in polite society"  
A small smile formed on Helen's lips at Nikki's touch of humour while the sense of George's perspective became more apparent.  
"I expect that George was reacting out of a sense of fear for John and was just being protective of him"  
Helen nodded her head. It made sense. "So what's the answer, Nikki? Where do I go from now"  
"It's hard for me to say, Helen." Nikki ventured cautiously. She had had a lifetime in dealing with other people's problems, but she knew that she was a willing amateur in comparison with Helen's professional experience. "I think that you've given him more than enough to think about, to come to terms with before he can piece his life back together again. The next time you see him will depend on how you find where his head is at." Helen lay back on the sofa. Her normal instinct was to mull over her game plan ready for the next appointment and write it up. Tonight, she wanted nothing more than to put up her feet, take it easy and recover from today's sense of defeat. 


	167. Chapter 167

A/N: University of York Website, Campus at Heslington for details of Jo's visit

Part One Hundred and Sixty Seven

Life was all so different a month ago. She had traveled up to York for the weekend to visit her two sons who were at university there. The place was ideal as they were on the self- contained modern concrete university campus in a 200-acre landscaped park. All the colleges and academic buildings were on a flat level site within comfortable walking distance of each other, with all the facilities on site. She had been put up in a sparse shaped spare room with a wonderful panoramic view over the lake. She enjoyed strolling round the cloistered world of academia and being given the guided tour by Tom and Mark as the archetypal proud parent. It made her feel young as a throwback to her youth. She had time apart from that to stroll round the city walls of York and visit the famous Viking center. The wine she sipped in the evening was that of celebration of the brightness of her mood.

That weekend was a month ago, and it was an eternity in space away from her. Despite the sunny day, Jo could not help but feel that, this Wednesday that it wasn't shining on her. These moods came from somewhere out of the blue and there was nothing she could do about it. Not that it was easy for others to see the outward manifestation of this beneath the public perception of the level-headed, sensible Jo whose career option was to care deeply about the victims of society. It crossed her mind that sometimes, that victim, told a story which was far too close to home which happened where Barbara Mills' second and third husbands had died a lingering and painful death from cancer, just as her husband had. She had had too much to drink so that George had had to temporarily take over the running of the case. Given time, she had learnt to dismiss that was just a 'one off' incident, a few months ago.

Instinct told Jo to help herself to a stiff shot of whisky as soon as she got home to get over the rigours of the day. To anyone outside the brethren, it appeared that they were all consummate professionals without a trace of stage nerves, just like any actor. Their role in court was to convey that totally assured sense of knowledge and no one but a fellow brethren realized that there were times that all of them had 'winged it' at some time or other. Afterwards, that was all business that was done and disposed of, prior to the next day. Whichever way the court case went that day, there was the normal matter of winding down after a hard day and different barristers handled it in different ways.

As she settled down in the evening, on a Wednesday evening, that dull feeling of deflation came over her, so that home and hearth did not have that attraction, quite the reverse. She couldn't put finger on it as she refilled her glass but it dawned upon her that this was one of her occasions when she would have welcomed company, only that it wasn't there when she needed it. It had been a pattern throughout Jo's life that there were times when she wanted her own company, and other times when she needed company and it wasn't around. The times when she wanted her freedom most was when she feared being sucked in by John's dangerous attractions. Theoretically, since she, John and George shared each other she ought to be having the best of all worlds but there were sometimes when for some reason that she could not name, life didn't feel that way.

What was totally arbitrary, so Jo reflected in a contemplative haze was the way that she, George and John came together in various combinations, in ways unplanned, unthought out and how often, the ring on her mobile or her phone call to others was the precursor. In such a situation, she could hardly wait to drive over to John's flat or George's house or else she would wait in keen anticipation for either or both of the others to come to her. The only curse of the modern age was the disembodied replacement of the real person, leaving their prerecorded message that they weren't available and please can a message be left and the call would be returned. That sense of being let down, of bitter disappointment had happened to her before and at one time, what was worse was that John would be out there in the wide world chasing some anonymous woman who 'meant nothing to her.' It was then that she knew what the blues were about. She, Jo Mills, was its author of that song far too many times than she wanted to remember.

Once again, she picked up her mobile and dialed George's number. She could do with a chat, not about anything in particular, but just in general. The familiar dial tone sounded and yet again, George's voice which was not really a voice drawled her message to' leave a message for her and she would return the call.' Some absurd instinct in her almost wanted her to believe that George had really heard her voice but when her voice faded away, she knew that she was only deceiving herself.

A temporary feeling of positivism welled up inside her to be positive, and she clicked into the next course of action, to phone John. After all, midweek wasn't his likeliest time to be out and about. Impatiently, she waited for John to pick up the phone with that lazily indolent mannerism that she always remembered when she was there with him. "Hi, John…" she started to say when she was greeted by the same mechanically empty tones, a hateful electronic impersonation of the human being, only that he had said the words in the first place to set up the ring tone. It died away into nothingness, leaving her to clutch the phone in vague impotent fury at the world around her. To assuage her wounded feelings, she reached out for the bottle again. 

It was when she knocked back another glass of neat spirits after the last one that she realized that the alcohol was starting to go to her head. She was starting to lose count. It was as well that she didn't need to walk anywhere in a hurry, as she realized that she was far too rooted in her chair. Never mind, her hazy dreamy thoughts reassured herself, she had everything she needed, herself, a comfortable armchair, a glass and a bottle of whisky. She didn't need anyone else, or so the alcohol running through her veins was trying to tell her.

As the room was suddenly moved into closer focus, she tried to look at the whisky bottle. The label wavered in front of her. It hazily occurred to her that perhaps the real reason why she couldn't get her eyes to focus properly was that she needed glasses. It happened to everyone sooner or later. This was the reason why she had trouble in focusing on the dividing line, that separated the amber spirit from the clear air. The colours weren't that different or else she might be worried at how much she had drunk.  
As she lay in her chair, that evening, she couldn't shift that core emotion within her of that total depression of spirit. No matter how much she had drunk, somehow, she couldn't escape from herself and her emotions sank down into feelings of defeat. 


	168. Chapter 168

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Sixty Eight

John slept very fitfully on the Wednesday night, tossing and turning as the dreams almost overcame him. When his unsettled sleep woke her, George would put her arms round him, holding him to her until he calmed down again. It broke her heart when he unknowingly called for his mother, something that she had never heard him do before. John was entirely unaware of his unconscious disturbance, and George knew that it would have mortified him to have known that he had lowered his defences so spectacularly. It wasn't until the early morning that he finally slipped into a much deeper sleep, his mental and emotional exhaustion banishing the dreams for at least a few hours. 

When John eventually awoke at around ten on the Thursday morning, George was sitting fully dressed on the side of the bed, having just placed a mug of tea on the bedside table. "How do you feel?" she asked when he opened his eyes. "Erm, exhausted," John replied, lifting his hand to cover a yawn. "What time is it?" "Nearly ten," George told him. Then, at John's aghast expression, she added, "Don't worry, I've phoned both our secretaries, and we're both officially off work with food poisoning. It won't do you any harm to tell a little white lie just this once." "No, I suppose not," He acknowledged, heartily relieved that George had removed the issue of his having to go into court feeling the way he did. As he looked up at her, he could see the slight shadows beneath her eyes. "Did I keep you awake last night?" "You were somewhat restless," She told him, running a gentle hand along his cheek and through his tousled hair. "I'm sorry," He said, wondering just what form his restlessness had taken. "It doesn't matter," She assured him. "Now, I'm going to take the opportunity to catch up on some paperwork, so you go back to sleep. You look as though you need it." Pulling her down to lie on his chest, John kissed her. "I love you," He said, not knowing how else to acknowledge his appreciation of what she was doing for him. "I love you too," She said, leaning her smooth cheek against his slightly stubbly one. 

When she returned downstairs, leaving John to go back to sleep, she stood in the kitchen, watching Mimi's antics out in the back garden. The little dog was chasing flies, running round and round in circles in the sunshine. Smiling at the absurdity of canine pleasure, she poured herself a mug of coffee and went into her office, opening all the windows to let in the warm, fresh summer air. Lighting a cigarette, she picked up the phone, no longer prepared to put off the rather difficult phone call that she had promised herself she would make. "Helen, it's George," She said when Helen answered her mobile, sounding as calm and professional as she ever had. "George," Helen said in surprise. "I was going to phone you a bit later. How's he doing?" "He's asleep," George told her. "After a pretty restless night." "It'll probably do him good," Helen replied. "Helen," George began a little sheepishly. "I owe you an apology." "No, you don't," Helen told her gently, grateful that George was speaking to her again. "Yes, I do," George insisted. "I should never have said some of the things I did yesterday. They really weren't called for." "You were trying to protect him," Helen explained. "Which is entirely understandable. John's lucky to have someone to fight his corner as well as you do." "Well, I don't mean to be quite so vicious about it," George said with a slight smile. "I think it just came as a bit of a shock, that's all." "Something like that does," Helen told her succinctly. "Especially if you had absolutely no idea." "I didn't," George confessed. "None whatsoever. But if I'm honest, I'm glad that he's doing it. Something I will tell you, however, is that I don't think he will ever tell you the real reason behind his decision to start therapy again. If the catalyst was what I think it was, then not even you have a hope in hell of getting it out of him. You just might like to bear that in mind." "I will," Helen assured her. "Now, the reason I was going to phone you in a while, is that I need you to bring him back to see me late this afternoon. After such a harrowing session yesterday, it would be wrong of me to leave it a week before seeing him again." "Okay," George replied. "He can pick up his car." 

When John came downstairs a couple of hours later, George was still sitting at the computer, writing a report for one of her richest clients. Going into the kitchen, John made some fresh coffee, taking her a cup when he'd poured it. "Thank you," She said when he put it down on the desk. Putting his arms round her from behind, John leaned his cheek against hers, reading what she'd written so far. "Are you still working for that particularly corrupt individual?" He asked in disgust, recognising the name at the top of the report. "Yes," George replied with absolutely no contrition. "Because he pays generously and on time, and because one of the things I insist on when I work for him, is that I get a cut of whatever he can screw out of either huge insurance companies or more recently the DTI." "You're outrageous," John told her affectionately. "I've never been anything else," She acknowledged with a smile. "It's something you should be used to by now." "There's something I want to say," John said after a moment's silence, his face still very close to hers. "I'm listening," She said, wondering what on earth was coming. "Thank you, for not asking questions," He said, appreciating this from her more than he could possibly imagine. "John," She said, taking his hands in hers where they rested at her waist. "If you want to tell me about it, if you want to tell me just what you've been doing for the last few months, then I'll listen. But if you don't, then that's fine. I don't need to know, and I certainly don't want to put you under any more emotional pressure than you are already." "I think that's why I asked Helen to contact you instead of Jo," He said, incredibly touched by her explanation. "When I was seeing Rachel Crawchek," He continued. "Jo constantly wanted to know how it was going, and how successful it was. It's often difficult enough already without the added pressure of needing to make it succeed." "John, I would never have the courage to allow someone to attempt to untangle my psyche, and I am incredibly proud of you for sticking to it as long as you have. So, I'm not about to make it even harder for you to keep going. There's only one thing that I'm a little curious about, and that's why you chose Helen, considering that she isn't a purely professional stranger, but a friend, someone we all know outside of her professional field." "It's quite obvious if you think about it," He said with a slight smile. "With Helen in particular, I could never fall back on using the way out that I did with Rachel, even if I wanted to." George's eyes widened. He was right, it did make an awful lot of sense. So, he had gone into this without his usual escape mechanism, making her even prouder of him than she already was. 

After making them something to eat, John decided to take Mimi for a walk, thinking that the simple action of doing something normal would probably do him the world of good. He walked in the direction of the park, where he had occasionally met Yvonne walking Trigger. Mimi was delighted to be let loose in the huge open space that was full of the scent of other dogs. He sat down on a convenient bench and closed his eyes, knowing that Mimi wouldn't stray very far from him, and feeling the soft caress of the sun on his face. 

As Yvonne walked through the park, having removed Bell's lead, she caught sight of John, and her eyes widened at the thought that he was quite obviously skiving off work. But so what, she thought to herself, everyone needed some time out now and then. But as she approached, she saw that he looked lost, vulnerable, as though something had happened that had rocked his entire world temporarily off its axis. He didn't seem to take any notice of her as she sat down at the other end of the bench, so she just sat there, waiting for him to come back to the present. 

When he opened his eyes and saw her, he smiled. "I must be losing my grip," He said in greeting. "I had no idea that I had company." "You looked as though you didn't want to be disturbed," Yvonne replied quietly. "Are you all right?" "I would be lying if I said yes," He acknowledged grimly. "But it'll pass." "We all have days like that," Yvonne told him honestly. "They usually get better in the end." Looking over at where Mimi was bounding up to Bell, seeing someone who might play with her, John said, "I sometimes envy her, without a care in the world other than where her next meal is coming from." "Yeah, I know what you mean," Yvonne replied with a shrug. "Nothing ever seems to weigh them down." 

They sat there contentedly enjoying the sunshine, and John couldn't help but admit that Yvonne's company was enormously relaxing. She didn't ask him anything about why he was there in the middle of a weekday when he should really be at court, and she didn't enquire as to what was bothering him. The thought of having to answer a stream of penetrating questions was really what currently terrified him the most. He couldn't begin to explain to anyone all the feelings that were buzzing around in his head, and he certainly wasn't prepared to justify why he was talking to Helen about his innermost thoughts, and not to either of the women he loved. This was why, he realised with dawning clarity, he certainly shouldn't even think of telling Jo. With all the best intentions in the world, Jo would inevitably put pressure on him to make the therapy work, whereas George probably wouldn't even want to know when he had his sessions. When the two dogs thought to seek out their owners again, the two humans rose from the bench, clipped leads onto the collars of their canine bosses, and left the park behind. "She looks happy," John said, scratching the head of the lively Labrador. "Yeah, I think she likes her new home," Yvonne said with a smile. "Your daughter really knew what she was doing in rescuing this one." "I wish that she would give it up," John said with a slight frown. "Yeah, I bet you do," Yvonne said with a laugh. When they reached George's house, Yvonne briefly laid a hand on his arm. "Take care of yourself," She told him quietly. "Whatever it is will sort itself out in time, that's what happens." "I've no doubt that you're right," He said, inwardly praying that her prediction would be fulfilled. 


	169. Chapter 169

Part One Hundred and Sixty Nine 

"I know I don't exactly run Larkhall strictly according to ultra politically correct guidelines but I think that we showed them that Larkhall works where it matters." Karen had summarized as soon as the inspectors were out of the door.  
"Was there a computer scam to fleece the personal spends accounts under Sylvia's nose? Was a dead body carted round the wing and did it finally pop up in the chapel right in the middle of the service? Did your prison come over as something like 'Carry on, Larkhall' and do you really think that your reputation will be ripped to shreds as mine was?" countered Grayling cheerily. "Well, no." admitted Karen.  
"Then don't worry, Karen. I'll keep my ear to the ground. My judgment is that everything will go very quiet while they try and work out what to write. That is their problem and it certainly won't be yours. If I hear of anything, I'll let you know." As soon as Grayling had put the phone down, his face split into a broad grin. Everyone had acted with considerable finesse and had worked together splendidly. He knew Karen of old that she would, if anything understate the situation. He was not afraid or inhibited to let softer emotions of generous pride flow through him. Not for one second did he become jealous of Karen's success. He would be the first to state that the previous disastrous prison inspection was down to the way that a whole load of trendy management theories had taken over his head to make his grip on the prison completely shambolic.

Grayling strolled down the length of the office, annoying Alison Warner by his manner in ways that she could not put her finger on. What most infuriated her about the man were her suspicions that he knew far too much for his own good and he kept his secrets very tightly secure. It struck at her desire for control of all around her.

Mr. Simpson wearily sat back and looked at the report. He had written and rewritten it many times and had talked endlessly to his junior. He had had a few sleepless nights where expediency wrestled endlessly with his engrained training in accurate observation. He had ended up doing his best to downplay the positive side and to highlight the blemishes but to little avail. It had all hinged on the evidence of the prisoners. Everything had fallen apart when the evidence of that blond haired prisoner was utterly discredited. He could not let her brand of insinuation even enter his report when malicious malcontents at other prisons were similarly disregarded if there was enough first hand evidence to rebut it. 

He had wondered if everything was a put up job, as if he had arrested Al Capone on a traffic violation charge while all the bootleg whisky was sneaked out of the back door. He had to admit that, if that were the case, then their conspiracy was a masterpiece of slick organization including the collusion of enough inmates to pull this off. He had to reject this brand of conspiracy theory as swaying over into pure paranoia. He couldn't get away from the fact that, in its rough and ready way, Larkhall worked. Finally, he gave up in despair, signed off the final draft and let the messenger take the ticking bomb away to wend its way to the notoriously irascible Minister.

Neil Houghton looked warily at the neat folder that landed on his desk. It had crossed his mind that he had not heard a whisper about the report and that aroused his suspicions. He picked it up and started leafing firstly through the neatly typed up set of conclusions at the end. He always found it more useful to look at summaries of reports, as they didn't confuse things with the mass of conflicting and sometimes ambiguous details. He liked his certainties in his life that he could cling to. It was those that roused his rage immediately. Much against his will, he started to look at the details and certain phrases were branded on his mind in letter of fire. This was utterly outrageous.  
"…….in its own way, however loosely run the information infrastructure, the prison officers do get to know the prisoners…….there is mutual respect between prison officers and inmates even if the tone is sometimes over familiar…..one failing is that there is no prison diversity forum and that there is an over reliance on informal arrangements amongst relationships between the prisoners……the danger with this is that while the prison population changes over time, the social cohesion amongst the prisoners could easily break down without robust control mechanisms in place…….the prison diet is somewhat basic although it is up to an acceptable standard…….although useful education projects are in hand, other purposeful activity is oriented towards filling in ancillary functions of the prison….the general ethos is homely though hardly radical…….."

Neil Houghton went red in the face and his eyes glared menacingly. Surely, Larkhall had an evil reputation as the graveyard of reputations in the Home Office. He had picked up its reputation of a history of prison escapes, suicides, prison riots, letters from inmates to the 'Guardian." He had counted on the certainly that either the inspectors would dig up the dirt or else the prison would malfunction spectacularly. Either way, he was guaranteed to win. He might have known that its twisted nature would have made it pose as a model establishment. The report's negative sides were nitpicking, hardly the stuff of Select Committee. In fact, if every prison in the country were working in a similar fashion, at least the press would be off his back. The hateful fact of his existence was that it was Larkhall, of all places, that was so sickeningly angelic. He picked up the phone. He needed answers, and fast. 

"I don't want some ex-con running a wing in one of my prisons. Your report left that out. I want that part of the report rewritten for a start." Houghton snapped at the two sheepish inspectors and slung the report across the desk virtually in their laps. Mr. Traynor looked sideways at his senior. He did not dare to say anything off his own bat but looked to him to take the lead. In turn, the other man coughed and straightened his tie and began to speak very hesitantly.  
"It isn't as easy as that"  
"I don't see that. It seems quite simple to me. It was a complete mistake that she was taken on in the first place. She should go"  
"We spent the majority of our time on G wing. We thought that it would be the weak link and that it would drag down Larkhall as a whole. We were wrong. We interviewed a number of the prisoners and they were happy"  
"…no doubt being tucked up in bed at night by a load of wet liberals……" snorted Houghton derisively. If prisoners weren't in prison to suffer, then what on earth were they in prison for? The Sun might nose this one out. He was horrified that he might get pilloried by the very same press, that he looked to for political friendship and support of his 'hard man' image.  
"It doesn't work out that way. The prison officers obviously respect her and the wing works efficiently in its own way. There are some procedural imperfections but nothing to write home about. We've been through the records with a fine toothcomb for any trouble. The one incident of the prison officer who was sacked for tampering with the prisoner's mail was fully investigated." "I know all about it." Snapped Houghton. "I wanted you to find evidence of sloppy supervision of staff, and bending the rules for prisoners far enough so that we can use that to hang her with"  
Mr. Simpson kept his thoughts to himself and his face straight concerning the minister's sense of ethics. The other man's tone of voice and visual mannerisms alternated between synthetic moral outrage and the self satisfied, confidential expression of a political fixer. After all, he was a politician so he should not be so surprised. "There was nothing on record. Surprisingly enough, her system is impeccable and her budget hangs together to the last penny. There is absolutely nothing on paper, which she can be criticized for, certainly not the matter of the letter. After all, most organizations work on at least a fifty fifty chance that there is no internal corruption"  
Neil Houghton snorted with anger and disgust. The trouble was that the man was clearly not 'on message' despite all the subtle hints he was giving. The man's insufferable rectitude and 'stick in the mud' attitude was beginning to irritate him intensely. The man was clearly a plodder with no sense of creativity, of thinking and working 'outside the box' in which he was indoctrinated many years ago.  
"We have to admit that whatever Karen Betts is doing with Larkhall, it is working. Let's face it, I can't rewrite this report without falsifying our records of observations"  
"I am not asking you to do that. I'm merely suggesting that you put a different gloss on it, to be truthful without being over sympathetic." Came Neil Houghton's reply through his tight smile. Mr. Simpson sank back in his chair in dismay. The politicians lived in such an Alice in Wonderland world where words meant exactly according to what they wished them to mean. After all, he was just an old fashioned inspector. He had tried to do a hatchet job and failed and it seemed the logical course of events to cut their losses, mark it up for another follow up review and to work through prisons far more deserving of his attention. Besides, the latest prison based legislation put more work on them for the same staffing. Surely this was the most sensible, logical course of action?

"There's another thing, the fact that there was no prior notice so that the prison could be caught off guard. It fitted in any case as a follow up report. If you take a look at the previous report, you can see that any report must be an improvement on the one before. We can't have it both ways"  
The lowering scowl on Neil Houghton's face indicated very precisely that he did want to have it both ways. It was in his very nature, which his cosseted position indulged to the limit. Mr. Simpson would not have known the elegant old-fashioned expression 'hoist with our own petard' but if he had, it wouldn't have done him any good to say it.

Neil Houghton brooded on his own after the inspector had left. He signed it off and dumped it in his out tray. There was a fix somewhere. He didn't know who did it and why but he vowed to someday get to the bottom of the matter. 


	170. Chapter 170

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Seventy

Later that afternoon as they drove towards the clinic where Helen worked, George could feel the tension rising in him, the slight air of nervousness which she certainly wasn't used to seeing in him. "Is this how you often feel before a session?" George asked him as she waited for a traffic light to turn green. "Sometimes," He admitted, not having been aware that his feelings were quite so visible to her. But as they sat in the waiting room as Helen finished with her previous patient, George took his hand in hers, trying to give him the silent support that wouldn't actually intrude on his thoughts. In truth, she really wasn't sure how to help him with what he'd been going through over the last day or so, and she had to do this purely by instinct. She didn't want to make him feel in any way crowded, but she did want him to know that she was there for him if he wanted her. John definitely appreciated her gentle presence, because it put no pressure on him to discuss his feelings whatsoever, something that he knew he couldn't have coped with today. 

When Helen appeared and asked John to follow her, George rose with him, putting her arms round him and softly kissing him. "You don't need to stay," he told her, feeling more than a little self-conscious at her presence. "Do you want me to go?" She asked, perfectly happy to do whatever he wanted. After a moment's thought, he said, "No," Suddenly wanting the silent support that her presence down the corridor would inevitably provide. As George watched him walk with Helen into the consulting room, she picked up an out of date copy of Cosmopolitan, and tried to lose herself in its pages, but all the time wondering how John was getting on behind the closed door. 

When they were seated opposite each other, Helen asked, "So, how are you feeling today?" "As though I'm on a different planet," He replied, thinking this the simplest way of explaining his sense of unreality. "Part of me feels numb, empty, as though I don't have anything left inside me, yet the rest of me feels overwhelmed." "That's not unusual," Helen told him matter-of-factly. "You had an enormous emotional shock yesterday, because a lot of those feelings had remained hidden and dormant for years. It will in the long run be a good thing that you faced some of your demons, but it might not feel like it for quite a while." "So what do I do now?" John asked. "How do I return to my job and the rest of my life without completely disintegrating?" "You do that by constantly reminding yourself that you're not the only person who knows how you feel," Helen told him succinctly. "If it hadn't been necessary for me to contact George yesterday, I would have suggested that you tell somebody about what you were going through, because you will occasionally need someone to lean on." "I think that's what I don't like about all this," John said a little bitterly. "The fact that I do need such a level of emotional support. Certainly where George and Jo are concerned, I'm used to giving it to them, not having it the other way round." "And how did George live up to that?" Helen asked with some curiosity. "She was wonderful," John was forced to admit. "She's barely asked me anything about why I've been coming to see you, or what we've talked about, something I am certain Jo would have done. When I had therapy last time and made such a disaster of it, I think the fact that Jo knew about it, and was expecting me to make a success of it put an enormous amount of pressure on me. Failing wasn't really an option, because it had been Jo's idea in the first place. She was so angry with me when I told her that I'd slept with Rachel, which I suppose was hardly surprising. Jo made me feel as though I'd failed her more than I'd failed myself. I don't blame her for it, but that's almost certainly why I asked you to contact George rather than Jo. I don't want Jo to know that I'm having therapy again, at least not yet, because I don't want to be under the same pressure to make it succeed as I was before." "Is it really so different with George?" Helen asked, marvelling at how two people could see something like this quite so differently. "Yes," John said with absolute certainty. "George sees it as something that I've chosen to do for whatever reason, and a part of my life that she will probably know very little about. The difference is that she doesn't feel threatened by my having an area of my life that she doesn't have any part in, whereas Jo probably would." "And why do you think that is?" It hurt John that he didn't have to think before immediately coming up with an answer to this. 

"When I was married to George, she was forced to become used to my straying, because the more she ignored it, the more she thought I was likely to stay with her. I don't admit something like that lightly, because I do feel incredibly guilty for the way I often treated her. No matter how hurt I might have been over her inability to feel any real love for Charlie, George didn't deserve such a lacklustre approach to fidelity. The fact that George entirely went off making love for a while, was not an excuse for me to pick up someone else." "So why did you do it?" Helen asked, striving to remove any hint of censure from her tone. "I thought that she no longer loved me," John said quietly. "I now know that it was because she thought that she didn't deserve my love, but at the time I lighted on the most probable explanation. I thought I'd managed to keep my infidelity from her, but she found out somehow, and began sleeping with me again because she didn't want to lose me." "Doesn't that tell you how much she loved you, and still does love you?" Helen persisted quietly. "Yes," John said with a heavy sigh of regret. "But it didn't prevent me from straying again and again over subsequent years. I sometimes think that if my mother had been alive, she would have been utterly ashamed of me." "Whilst some parents can criticise and belittle every single thing that their children either achieve or don't achieve," Helen said thoughtfully. "There are other parents who have an enormous capacity for forgiveness, no matter what their children do. I sometimes like to think that my mother would have been one of those, and that no matter how bad some of the things I've done may have been, she would have been able to understand the reasons behind what I'd done. I might be deluding myself, but I'll never know and neither will you." 

John was quiet for a time, trying to put his thoughts into some sort of order. "Where do I go from here?" he asked eventually, wanting an answer to this above everything else. "I think you need some time out," Helen replied gently. "You need some time to begin putting yourself back together. It isn't going to be easy, and I will be here any time you want to talk about it, but it is something that only you can decide how to do. You need to start rebuilding your self-confidence and to start telling yourself that you are worth an awful lot more than you think you are. Try not to think that I'm dropping you just when I've managed to get through your emotional armour because I'm not, but there's only so much I can do for you from now on. I haven't done what you wanted me to do, I haven't given you an answer as to how you can avoid using sex with random women as a fallback, but that particular question didn't ever have a simple answer. You didn't know it when you came to me, but you needed to face your innermost fears, and to admit to the things you would rather avoid discussing. Somehow, we've got there. It hasn't been easy, and just because you've achieved that doesn't mean it will necessarily be easier from hereon in. What I hope, is that you will be more likely to think about what you're doing before you do it, though that isn't a guarantee." "I hope I can live up to your expectations," John said with a slight smile. "They have to be your expectations, John, not mine," Helen told him seriously. "You need to decide what you want to expect for yourself. This isn't about what others may want of you, but what you want out of yourself. George might now be aware that you've been having therapy, but I don't think she'll hold it against you if it doesn't automatically make you faithful to her and Jo. She loves you too much for the occasional lapse to be a real issue. That isn't to say that you shouldn't try your hardest not to stray in the future however." "Are you sure that it's okay for me to come back if I feel the need?" He asked, wanting some sort of lifeline to cling onto. "Of course," Helen replied as she got to her feet. "That's what I'm here for." 

As John followed George home, having picked up his car which had thankfully remained in one piece after spending a night in the clinic's car park, he wondered if he really could continue on his own from here. He appreciated what Helen had said, but would his few months of therapy really stand him in good stead for the future? He honestly couldn't tell. He wasn't arrogant enough to think that he could ignore or bypass all forms of female beauty except for those of Jo and George, because he knew himself of old. If Jo knew about the therapy, she would probably expect him to succeed at his endeavour to be faithful to them. George on the other hand would be unfailingly realistic, and possibly even expect him to stray, knowing him as well as she did after all these years. The question he kept asking himself was, what on earth was the fine line between these two extremes, and did he have the willpower and self-control to maintain it? 


	171. Chapter 171

Part One Hundred and Seventy-One 

The workings of the power elite enable a far greater interchange between them in work and social occasions than might be assumed. Unlike the celebrity elite whose comings and goings are breathlessly reported in disposable magazines, they operate in secret. If it is the case that knowledge is power, then that enables them to make their plans unchecked, and work across separate organisations. In contrast, it is the lot of lesser mortals to be chained to their working life, be it office worker or commercial salesman out on the road or factory worker. They assume that their freedom is greater than it actually is, which is a step up from the freedom to be out of work and on the margins of society. The cult of the business meeting, the working lunch and the seminar meant that the uncomplaining drudges in life who hold up institutions on their overworked shoulders, carry on much as before while decisions that may affect their lives are made with a certain assured arrogance and remoteness of power. They operate in an insulated bubble from which nothing can disturb them, except rebellious high court judges and bloody-minded surgeons with ideas that are twenty years behind the times.

It should be no great surprise when Michael Beauchamp chose to frequent his favourite restaurant that he spied his old friend, Neil Haughton.  
"Neil. What luck bumping into you in this neck of the woods." Exclaimed Michael.  
"I come here now and again to see what turns up. Let's grab a table together"  
Neil operated from the certainty where even a social equal would not presume to have any alternative plans. As Michael was on his own, it suited both their purposes and they made their lordly way to a comfortable corner, well suited for confidential discussions. By contrast, the normal prosperous married couple would have taken any table that was center stage and not even think of eavesdroppers.

"So how is married life suiting you with the glamorous Connie? I haven't seen her for months." Neil enquired, discreetly sipping at his glass of mineral water and carefully arranging his napkin. "We both never stop working, carving out our individual career paths in life, Neil"  
"That sounds familiar. I hardly have a private life that I can definitely call my own. There is always the possibility of a late night call, some minor crisis that I have to deal with." "There are compensations, Neil. Don't you find that somehow the burdens of life at the top with life and death decisions give you that adrenaline drive to succeed, Connie in the operating theatre and me in the boardroom. Neither of us knows the meaning of slowing down in life. That's for those who are worn out, past it or just plain inadequate." Michael pronounced smugly and enthusiastically. Then again, Michael had always been a lucky man.

"Not that we are appreciated for all the hard work we pack in"  
"You're right there, Neil. Whatever grand plans that we come up with, we always get the moaners, the negative critics. It is left to us to see things through, the leaders, those with vision, who have the sight of the bigger picture. You might talk till you're blue in the face that, in the long run, that vision will pay handsomely but all these whingers can do is to blether on about the fine details. You know the sort of thing where a few individuals are pushed out of their tidy little corner in life. They never see that, in a few years time, they'll be thanking us for taking all the trouble, all the flack in the press, so long as the long perspective is taken care of. All I can say is that the hard work we do is worth every penny that we're paid."

Neither men knew that their pious words were only their reduction of Rudyard Kipling's poetical "The White Man's Burden" to the level of a party political broadcast on behalf of the Me First Party.

"It sounds as if you have the ideal partnership." Neil continued after a pause in the conversation.  
"It doesn't mean that we don't have a little entertainment in our lives. After all, we've worked hard enough to get where we are, " came the reply with a confidential leer.  
Neil was intrigued. "Tell me more, Michael"  
"Connie and I have always had what I would call an 'open relationship.' After all, you have seen her and know how attractive she is. We have this unspoken agreement that if in my travels, I spy some attractive piece of skirt in a hotel bar who is in need of my debonair charm, then it's only fair that she enjoys the same rights. We don't ask questions of each other, but we're there for each other's careers"  
"So you enjoy all the benefits of playing away from home without being greeted by a shower of broken china"  
"Exactly so," pronounced Michael "So how's your love life"  
"Well, you know how it goes. I'm taking it easy and playing the field. I certainly don't want to go plunging into some kind of demanding relationship." Houghton declared scornfully. "So you're the eligible bachelor right now"  
"Something like that." There was another thoughtful pause. They were both tiptoeing round the fact that Michael had the big advantage over Neil in having a partner on very attractive terms while Neil didn't. His dedication to government business in hand carried an undertone of desperation, not dedication.  
"Do you miss not having George around anymore. I always thought that the pair of you were well suited, that you made a good team. For instance, her legal talents can't be sneezed at in terms of government business." "She was a tremendous asset to our partnership," came Houghton's instant response. "Of course, you know that the government has to be seen to comply with all the legal rigmarole, which I confess that I have trouble in getting my head round. I feel sometimes that the way forward is clear but I'm being pulled back by all this red tape. George had that talent to negotiate our way through these perils. All the members of the cabinet have said to me on more than one occasion how much they admired her. She was invaluable in that one essential area of work……..She was good in bed as well, I can tell you"  
Michael remembered the ultra confident glamorous blonde and nodded in agreement with the lopsided grin that briefly twisted Neil's features.  
"Of course, working for the government has that drawback. I can't ever say that when I was in advertising I anticipated that this would be a problem. I thought that, if I became a member of the cabinet, I would have more power, not less"  
"You have my sympathy, Neil"  
"Do you have this sort of problem, Michael"  
"God no." Michael Houghton's level droning voice responded. "You do have to watch out for health and safety law and those ambulance chasers threatening us with compensation claims. Regrettably, in this modern enterprise age, it is a growth area." "Coming back to George. Of course I do miss her charm, her unique ability to handle a social occasion. You must admit that it does tend to centre on couples and sometimes, I feel as if I am the odd one out. The PM does expect the family image of his ministers. It makes for the occasional bit of good publicity, you know"  
"I have seen her. She does have that certain quality, a bit like Connie"  
"Of course." Houghton replied a little stiffly.  
"Would you have her back if she asked"  
"I might." Houghton replied at last in deliberate tones after a long pause. "If I think of it, there are certain advantages. I mean I'm not the one to maintain grudges however much might have come between us. It's just that her presence round the house was so familiar. When she was around, I felt that I knew where I stood. I'd have to think carefully," he added hastily. "It's not as if she went out to buy a packet of cigarettes and forgot to come back for months and then let herself back with her front door key. A man has his pride, you know"  
"Sure." "It just depends, Michael. Of course, we would have to do a lot of talking over to set the record straight"  
"Is she seeing anyone else, Neil"  
"Not to my knowledge." Came the straight-faced answer from Houghton. "If she was, that would be something we might have to talk over"  
After that line of conversation petered out, the silence this time was brooding and longer than before.

"Anyway, back to what we were talking about before. Is there any inside information on the stock exchange that you might want to tip me off in advance"  
"Not at present but if I come across anything, you'll be the first to know," Neil's teeth flashed in reply, feeling that he was on much more solid ground.  
"So how's life going on in the corridors of power, Neil"  
"Surprisingly enough, nothing much except the irritating outcome of a prison inspection. It was one of our crumbling Victorian piles that's as behind the times as you can get"  
"Does it have any onsite healthcare?" Michael enquired as he applied his specialty to every corner of life. You never know, there might be scope for a bit of empire building. "From what I've seen in the report, they dabble in it. There's only a small unit, nothing like these huge modern complexes that you are building these days. Regrettably while these prisons exist, the healthcare has to be kept on site. You can't have any dangerous criminals escaping"  
"Just as well." Michael responded in bored tones. It wasn't worth bothering about by the sound of it. "Perhaps they ought to muddle along on their own. It's not as if prisoners deserve the same rights as the general population"  
"Hear, hear." Neil echoes from their shared sense of superiority over the general population. 


	172. Chapter 172

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Seventy Two

On the Wednesday lunchtime, Connie was taking advantage of the glorious weather on her day off to go shopping. It had been some considerable time since she'd spent an extortionate amount of money on clothes, but having a day off in the middle of the week, plus having been informed by Michael that they would be attending a very high powered dinner party at the weekend had given her the perfect excuse. The Knightsbridge boutique was air-conditioned, the cool wafts of manufactured air making her shiver slightly after the heat of the sun outside. Having paid for the dress, she left the quiet atmosphere of the shop, and began walking lazily down the fashionable street. The numerous expensive boutiques were interspersed with elegant wine bars and coffee shops, nearly all of them having tables and chairs outside, so that their customers could take advantage of the beautiful weather. Connie lifted her face to the sun as she walked, thinking it heavenly to be out in it rather than cooped up in either her office or the sterile environment of the operating theatre. Time was almost standing still for her today, with the very air itself seeming to be lulling her into a state of relaxation. 

When George caught sight of Connie from where she sat outside her favourite coffee shop, she smiled. Connie looked to be miles away, wholly submerged in her thoughts and without a care in the world. George hardly liked to disturb her reverie, but she somehow wanted to share in this unexpected side to Connie's nature. When Connie heard George's voice calling to her, she looked round, at first unsure as to where the voice was coming from. "Over here," George clarified, and Connie realised who it was who had greeted her. "Hi," She said, walking over to George's table. "This is a nice surprise." "Sit down," George invited. "Would you like some coffee?" Saying that she would, Connie took a seat and put her boutique bags down on a spare chair. "Have you like me got the day off?" Connie asked. "No," George replied with a slight frown. "My office isn't too far from here." "Very nice," Connie commented dryly. "That must be why you can afford to charge so much for your services." "No more, I suspect, than you do for the work you do at the Hadlington," George replied with a knowing smile, referring to the private hospital where she had been treated for her breast cancer. "Touché," Connie agreed with a smile. "So, how are you?" "Oh, surviving," George replied with a shrug. "The chemo's a bit of a nightmare, but I suppose that's to be expected. What about you?" "Oh, you know," Connie replied almost dismissively. "Still putting people back together, still shouting at my staff, you name it." "And how's it going with Ric?" George asked, having seen the possibility of something between them whilst she was in hospital. "He's just a friend," Connie said seriously. "Nothing more." 

When Connie's coffee had arrived and George had been given a refill, she tried to change the subject from something that Connie obviously found a little difficult. "So, what's the occasion?" She asked, gesturing to the bags from the type of shops that she occasionally frequented. "Or were you simply after some retail therapy?" "Michael is insisting on taking me to some political function, because the current Home Secretary, who just happens to be one of his cronies, will be the guest of honour." "Ah," George said with a broad smile. "So you're not particularly enamoured with Neil Haughton?" "Good god, no," Connie said in total disgust. "He bores me to tears. Quite how any woman manages to put up with him for more than five minutes is beyond me." "I put up with him for nearly two and a half years," George said to Connie's complete amazement. "And yes, he very often did bore me to tears." "You had an affair with the Home Secretary?" Connie asked, wanting to get this absolutely straight. "Yes, for my sins," George replied dryly. "We lived together for quite a while, which wasn't one of the most delightful experiences of my life." "So why did you do it?" Connie asked, wanting to get to the bottom of this little quandary. "I think that in the beginning, it was really to annoy John more than anything else," George admitted sheepishly. "I wanted to flaunt something in front of him that he couldn't give me, the status symbol of being attached to a government minister, and it worked. John was bitterly jealous of Neil's presence from the word go. Then, when I failed to win a trial which it would have been politically expedient to win, he gave me a black eye, so I threw him out. I've hardly seen him since." "You don't exactly lead a quiet life, do you," Connie said with sympathy. "I don't think I ever have," George told her ruefully. 

Then, wanting to get off the subject of her relationship with Neil, George asked, "So, what did you buy?" "This," Connie replied with a smirk, retrieving a beautiful, very revealing dark red dress from one of the bags and holding it up. It was fairly long, with a very low neckline and with the short sleeves off the shoulder. "That's gorgeous," George told her in obvious appreciation. "Well, it ought to ensure that I have some fun, and it will definitely serve to keep Michael on his toes." "Why do you stay with him if you despise him so much?" George couldn't help asking. "I don't really despise him, not completely anyway," Connie said a little tiredly. "We just both seem to have outlived our usefulness to the other, that's all. I no longer need his money that got me through medical school, and he no longer needs a wife to rise through the upper echelons of the Department of Health. We tolerate each other's existence because we can't be bothered to get divorced. He has lovers, I have lovers, and we put up a nicely contented facade whenever necessary." "It doesn't mean that you're happy," George said quietly. "No, perhaps it doesn't," Connie admitted, utterly astonished that she was revealing so much to this woman she barely knew. "But for now, I suspect that's how it's going to stay." 

"Well, you will certainly turn a few heads at that dinner," George said with a smile. "I seem to have gone off buying clothes ever since I had the mastectomy." "You don't look any different than you did before, you know," Connie told her quietly. "I'm not sure that I really believe you," George replied uncertainly. "You should," Connie said simply. "Besides," She added with a smile, trying to put George at her ease. "No woman should ever stop buying clothes. It goes against all the laws of humanity." A little while later as George returned to her office, she couldn't help smiling at the half-hour she'd spent with Connie. It had been entirely unexpected but extremely relaxing. They had talked about normal things and normal feelings, just two women who were gradually finding that they had an awful lot in common. 


	173. Chapter 173

Part One Hundred and Seventy-Three 

John's concerns pressed particularly heavily on him as he got home after a particularly wearisome day in court and he lay back while a soothing classical CD played. It crossed his mind that he might have been an emotional cripple all his life and therefore overdue for therapy. Nevertheless, he felt destined to be increasingly supportive of the troubles of those near and dear to him. In a covert way, this had been part of his role in life as a barrister and then a judge, and not just the by-product of his profession. After all, had he not gone out of his way to right injustices, to offer that compassion as filtered through the dry and dusty legal tomes and precedents? It meant that he was uniquely empowered to release the afflicted, and to open up their horizons where the scales of justice could be rightfully tilted that way. The other part of his role was as an avenging force of justice to bring home the consequences of moral transgressions, however rich and powerful the culprits fancied that they might be.

The combination of his learning and his facility with the spoken word was a finely honed skill in a courtroom, but he had been belatedly learning to apply it to his troubled home life. The John Deed that went home to Jo's and George's personal troubles was far less confident and self assured. He felt that he was a novice in the arts of being a carer, and was conscious that he wore L-plates when it came to compassion at home.

He mulled over what George had gone through over the years, first her anorexia and then her breast cancer and how much the chemotherapy treatment had taken it out of her. For all that, she had been unobtrusively there for him with her quietly undemanding and unselfish care for him in the aftermath of that last emotionally shattering therapy session. Tears suddenly sprang to his eyes. When he thought about it, she had always been an extravagant and extrovert dresser but she had worn her virtues in a self-denying fashion. She had always played up to her image of being hard, uncaring and only intent on material self advancement, and a careless observer might have judged her by that mask. Regrettably, George's act had worked far too well where Charlie was concerned. He had always really known different, and had seen that split second when she let down her guard. Now others could see what he had always known about her, even unconsciously when their mutual recriminations had signaled the end of their marriage. He smiled affectionately for her as his mind dissolved away peacefully in a dream.

He couldn't help noticing that something had improved on his immediate concentration on recent events, and had given him some kind of Olympian perspective of their past. He could place all events in their historical perspective, shading back in time. Both the busy life of a judge and his temperament hadn't allowed himself that luxury up till now.

In this mode of contemplation, he was not surprised that Jo's face gradually took shape before his eyes. His perspective shifted straight away to that sensible, level headed woman whom he had always believed her to be. He conceded that although both he and George had gently stretched her self-imposed boundaries, Jo would always be Jo. What he couldn't help thinking about was of the occasions when Jo and alcohol had violently collided with each other. In his present mood, it was easy to recall when once Jo had got drunk at his digs following the Jason Powell trial and another occasion when she was clearly incapable of taking her accustomed role at Barbara Mills trial and George had taken over.  
His calm contemplation was jarred by that image that came into his mind. He could see it plainly as if it were yesterday. He had offered Jo a drink in his digs and, after a moment of hesitation, Jo had poured a large measure and had knocked it back in one go, the first of several drinks. His eyes had seen it but the moment had passed him by, unregarded. The visual image it conjured up disturbed him greatly. It was perfectly understandable to overlook it at the time, as he was more preoccupied with her furious rage at his judgment. She was in such a state that his urgent need to calm her down had swept everything away, until now. His eyes had seen and observed at the time even if his conscious mind hadn't drawn conclusions.

"When I was young, I used to accompany my father to AA meetings as a recovering alcoholic." Jo's voice jumped into his consciousness. He could hear the particular intonations in her voice.

That meant that her own father had struggled to bring himself back from the brink of total ruination, loss of self respect and letting down your nearest and dearest. That was a private hell that he could relate to, he reflected to himself ruefully. If Jo had once fought to help her father to escape that hell, it ought to have made her the very last person to be drawn down into that pit and should have made her especially resolute. The words ' ought to' echoed in his head. He sensed a trap. From his experience of therapy, he sensed that life was not so easy, that it did not run in obvious straight lines like that but had an internal logic of its own. He could almost hear Helen's challenging voice ask of him who in the scheme of things is totally invulnerable. Why, even Helen, that most professionally correct of women had let slip personal glimpses of herself, the third person he knew who had lost a mother early in life, George, Helen and himself, John Deed.

It was time to act, time to consult a wiser authority, someone who might have knowledge of such matters where he, John Deed, was an amateur. He needed that input. Casting his mind about the circle of friends that he knew, Karen's face jumped into its frame of just that fount of wisdom. His mind was made up. He reached for his mobile

"John, I haven't heard from you in ages. It's good to hear from you again." John felt uplifted by the warm tone of Karen's voice. There was not a trace of reproach but the genuine pleasure in him melted his heart.  
"To what do I owe you this call"  
"I want to see you for some practical advice, Karen, on a medical matter. Is it all right if I come over and see you"  
The mixture of directness and diffidence struck a new note with Karen. This wasn't the John Deed that she had known. "Of course. No time like the present"  
Karen's simple response made John feel more centred on his purpose. He knew what he had to do and was not afraid to act.

A little while later, John made his way up the flight of steps and into Karen's smart flat. One glance at her told him that she had not changed and neither had her home surroundings. It gave him a sense of reassuring normality. One glance told him that Karen had achieved her own sense of balance, since his hair raising experiences of seeing Karen gamble recklessly on top of the prison roof with her own life as well as Denny's. "I assume that the demands of the prison service have kept you busy. From my limited experience in the past, I can't imagine that it would have got any easier"  
"You're right there. It gets to the point that I feel more married to Larkhall than any man I've lived with. I do my best to fight it but there you are. Want a drink"  
"I'm thirsty but mineral water will be fine, Karen. It's been a warm day"  
Karen smiled briefly to herself and pored a couple of drinks, scotch for herself.  
"So what do you want my opinion about, John"  
"It's this way. I needed some advice from you on a medical matter, not my own I hasten to add. You have the advantage over a doctor because you are a friend and because you have a mind and opinions which I respect"  
This is definitely not one of John's 'chat up' lines, Karen concluded. It was interesting that what John was saying had a new transparency of manner.  
"Fire away. I'm all ears"  
"Have you had any experience of any kind of an alcoholic, especially in the early stages"  
Karen sipped her drink as an alternative to reaching for a cigarette. The question was very open ended.  
"I've seen it in all shapes and sizes down the years, now that I remember. I started my training as a state registered nurse when I was 17 and joined the WRAF and then left to work at St Mary's Hospital. The forces and the medical profession both have a high percentage of alcoholism, the one because of a prevalent macho tradition, the other because of, well I don't know"  
Karen's deliberately neutral and technical dissertation faded away, when she focused in on why, amongst the highly talented and highly dedicated intelligent surgeons, there were the walking casualties.  
"Everyone has an idea of the obvious alcoholics, hanging round town centers. They include those who periodically end up at Larkhall where they end up temporarily drying out. When they serve their term, they end up back in their own private hell for lack of follow up action despite the best efforts of my officers. If you remember Denny Blood, that was exactly what happened to her mother. These are the obvious examples, who went past the point of no return many years ago. The problem is with those out there who work in occupations who just about cling on with their teeth, despite the odds is that they work unbelievably hard in concealing their addiction, first of all from themselves and then from their colleagues"  
"How do they get into that situation in the first place and how on earth do they hold down their jobs"  
"There are many patterns of alcoholic behaviour, John. Some are regular, steady drinkers who don't notice how it takes over their lives. Others binge drink, long periods of sobriety and then periodically falling off the wagon, whether in celebration of being let off the internal leash or just to drown their sorrows when events in life become too much for them. There's"  
Karen was about to carry on her discourse when she saw John's eyes widen in shock, however frozen his features were. She fixed John with a penetrating look to pin him down to specifics "You haven't asked to see me to talk about alcoholism in general but about someone you know. I know you better than that, John Deed."

John let out a long sigh of resignation. He was getting used to being pinned down by sharp eyes, perceptive women who saw through the guard that habit always erected at uncomfortable moments. The difference was that he was learning to stop fighting them off. He might as well bite the bullet and say what he had fully intended to say in the first place if it weren't for the problem in sometimes just coming out and saying it.

"You're right, Karen. It was foolish of me. Why I really wanted to tell you is that I'm worried about Jo"  
The words sprang out of John's mouth with the speed of a bullet. It might have seemed indecent if John hadn't concluded that the situation was far better dealt with by getting to the heart of the matter.  
"What makes you think that she has a drinking problem, John"  
Karen's carefully deployed words centred John. It both carefully described and avoided stigmatizing her at the same time.  
"There are events that I know from seeing with my own eyes"  
John was on home territory, in the world of evidence, and he set out the facts as best as he knew them.  
"And what is it that you sense and feel without putting your finger on it, John"  
"Is there any merit in it? It could all be in my head"  
"It could also be your intuition at work," Karen offered.  
John shook his head. He dwelt in the world of verifiable facts and intellectual certainties. Intuition, whether feminine or otherwise, was a quality of mind he had heard of but which lay outside his experience even supposing it ever existed.

"The problem is that you and I know that we have not enough to go on. I can't advise you to do more but watch and wait." Karen finally concluded. She was touched for his unselfish concern for her and wished that she had more comfort to offer him She had to be gently honest about the matter.  
"It seems somehow inadequate," John said at last.  
"Sometimes, that is all we can do. If you are right, you will find out soon enough if your fears are justified if you can read the signs right." 


	174. Chapter 174

Part One Hundred and Seventy-Four

If all the others on Darwin Ward were treating work as some kind of light-hearted entertainment, Ric for one wasn't in the mood. For some reason that he couldn't explain, the endless banter between Will and Tom set him on edge. In contrast, there was an ominous lowering storm clouded atmosphere between Will and Connie, which set in as soon as Connie came in view. There were times when he felt positive about himself, and was able to handle hospital politics with his mixture of diplomacy and firmness. There were other times when he just didn't want to know, and he longed to isolate himself into a thought balloon where nothing and no one could touch him or reach him.

Unfortunately, he rarely got his wishes granted except for the blessed moments when he could find an isolated part of St Mary's, and have a quiet smoke by himself. Otherwise, his life was perpetually held by the demands on his skills just as much as his surgical skills held his patients in life or death situations. The day to day impersonal co ordinations of skills could only go so far in making him feel that he was held in there in his rightful place. There were times when there weren't the happy endings and he had to break the news to yet another grieving relative. They said that this got easier in time to deal with but not for Ric. He had had a run of them this week, and the demons that slept at the back of surgeon's minds had come out from the shadows and started to haunt him, to make him doubt his abilities. The sort of phrases that he had uttered before sprang to his lips. After the far too familiar red-eyed tears and audible desolation of spirit, he had attempted to offer some form of comfort to them. The words rang hollow most of all to him as he felt that he had failed utterly to comfort himself, let alone others.

If there were anyone else in the universe who felt pressured and worn down with responsibility, he would shake the man by the hand and welcome him into his parlour. However, he felt that the odds of that happening to him in his life were stacked against him right now.

If he thought about it, Connie and Tom were the main sources of emotional nourishment at work. He knew when he was getting this support at work, he felt good about himself. Curiously enough he was inclined to blame himself, not external events when everything and everyone felt distant from him and life took wrong turns despite his best efforts. He was aware of Connie's charms and glowing violet eyes but he felt that somehow they weren't shining in his direction. When he did exchange words, he found himself replying in that same accursed stolid tone of voice, talking shop. He knew that he wanted to cut through the accustomed patterns of behaviour and everyday words, but he did not have the strength to break through that wall. "Is there something bothering you, Ric?" Connie enquired with real concern. She had known that a number of operations had not gone well with Ric, either "You know me, Connie. You win some, you lose some." Came the answer with the familiar wide grin on his face. "All right, I have not had my best week but tomorrow is another day"  
"I won't quote you one of Lola's grandmother's favourite sayings." Connie murmured.  
Ric laughed at that one. He paused as that tantalizingly brief glimpse of comfort opened up. He paused for that second till his pager rang. Cursing his fate, his feet took him elsewhere. There was so much to do, so little time to do it in.

The rest of the day passed its weary way in an anonymous blur. His hands and that functioning part of his mind did his work for him. Everyone else wore their anonymous green surgical gowns and masks and everyone functioned efficiently enough as part of the machinery of hospital. At the end of his shift, he threw off his garb and, dressed in his smart suit, left St. Mary's Hospital behind in the fading sunlight. Everything was someone else's responsibility right now and not his, certainly when he was off duty. Something urged him to speed off somewhere, anywhere. He needed bright lights, excitement, and a boost to his flagging spirits. There must be something more to his life. As the taxi took him down town, he could see young, carefree teenagers, out on the town. They were dressed in the latest fashion, and bent on pleasures without responsibilities. He envied them. They had some purpose in their lives and, as the night was theirs, their lives opened up for them with such promise. The contrast with his own life depressed him as he gave the driver a series of vague directions, turning right at the traffic lights for the second time.

A flashy red car cut past them, bass speaker booming away. It made him curse, both at the driver, the world and himself. His good mood hadn't come up right for him as the evening hadn't worked out the way it should have done. The thought made him edgy, and ready for radical solutions. He made a sudden decision and asked the driver to drop him off down a side street. He leapt out of the car with only a split-second thought to pay the fare and paced down the streets, seeking anything that might catch his eye, some kind of instant inspiration. His feet had taken over in deciding which way he would walk.

Suddenly, familiar, glittering lights stabbed at his vision and his mind connected with that familiar purpose, one place in the world where he knew that he belonged. It invited him in soundlessly. Once past the threshold, he strolled around the lurid exhortation to take chances in life. At last he was in the mood to enjoy himself and, for the first time that day, he felt at home with himself and his surroundings. The spinning wheel of fortune on the roulette table grabbed his eye. The clicking sound of the ball as it jumped and hopped its way to its place of rest was an irresistible siren sound in his ear. The chance was too good to resist, he told himself. He judiciously studied the form with a practiced eye , and instinct told him where the next ball must fall. Red twenty-one stared up at him while all other possibilities faded into insignificance. The space had his name written on it. He was so certain of it that he felt confident in putting his shirt on it.

Two hours later, Ric staggered out into the street, crazed with despair and bitter self-accusation. That unbelievable folly had happened once again in his life as time and time again, he had lost both his bet and his self-respect. Suddenly, those feelings poured back into him to overflowing point. He realized, too late, that he had opened up a hole in his monthly salary that needed urgent surgery to repair. What was worse was the bitter realization that he had broken the promise made to himself never to gamble again. He had let himself down most of all and he felt lonely and utterly lost. He needed the soft wise words of some all-forgiving female presence to tell him that everything would be all right, the pain would go away and that she would make everything feel better. From out of nowhere, inspiration born of desperation flashed into his mind and told him where to go.

"I'm pleased as always to see you Ric, but this is a turn up for the book to find you on my on in anyway," Karen added hastily, seeing him flinch away from her, as if he were some unclean cast out creature.  
Ric nodded dumbly and tottered over the threshold. She had never seen Ric so wild-eyed, so sweaty, so distraught and in such a state of shock. His tie was crooked, sweat was running down his face and the top button undone. Everything about him looked disheveled despite his smart suit. She went to put her arms round him to comfort him but he flinched away. She led him by the hand until he stood in the center of her living room, stock-still. "What's wrong with you, Ric? You must tell me. I'm really worried about you"  
Instinctively, both of them moved forward and Ric buried his head on her shoulder. She patted and smoothed down his back while she held him, making small comforting noises that he longed to hear. There was no comfort that he could give himself.  
"The worst thing in my life has happened to me- again. I must talk to you"  
"What's happened to you? I've never seen you in such a state"  
After what seemed like hours, the tension in his body started to ease, and Ric moved a little back from Karen.  
"It doesn't exactly suit me to lose my cool as badly as this. You must be lucky or unlucky to see me like this." Ric answered with a brief twisted smile, failing utterly to be his debonair self.  
"You're talking to me about dignity, Ric? I know far too much of your thoroughly disreputable past. You would be sure to go out of your way to break any rules about decorum - except, of course, being a caring, upright conscientious registrar"  
It was that mixture of banter, respect and familiarity that started to get through Ric's wall of black despair. Karen knew him way back when and it comforted him.  
"Was I that bad"  
"You've never known the stream of lurid rumours that trailed after you amongst us nurses. I'm sure that some of those stories are still doing the rounds, improving with age. Women talk, you know"  
More and more of the tension in Ric's body was being released. She knew that Ric needed, more than anything, to lie down. "You've come here for some kind of rescue. Very well, as your rescuer, I have a comfortable sofa. Just lie across it full length and leave the rest to me"  
He obeyed that mellow voice of hers that had always fascinated him. He had to trust something or someone, not counting himself.  
"Want a drink"  
"Is it a good idea"  
"Just this once, you need one small scotch inside you, and it should allow you to drive safely, even allowing the breathalyzer. It will settle you down enough"  
Ric nodded his head at her words of wisdom and reached out for the glass to be placed in his hands. As he sipped at the glass, he realized that Karen was right again. "You don't change, Karen. Not really." Ric said softly in gratitude to her. He stared up at the dimly lit ceiling overhead and stretched full length, his ankles resting on one low arm and his head rested on a soft cushion.  
"I don't normally make entrances like this, Karen.  
"A lot of us sometimes do things from time to time that we're not accustomed to do. There's a first for something out there"  
"Not gambling my monthly salary recklessly. I had a bad day at work and went to the very casino I swore I'd never go back to. I'm just repeating the whole sorry story of my life yet again." Ric muttered with incredible bitterness.  
Karen's thought flitted back to John's worried face and feeling his fears for Jo. "If you have an addiction, you shouldn't be surprised if you fall off the wagon. You can make amends by avoiding putting yourself in a situation where you might do just that. When you came off work, where did you go and what were you thinking of"  
"I….er…I thought I could do with cheering up and that I needed a bit of excitement." Ric lamely heard himself saying. "I just headed off into town"  
Karen's meaning look cut through him like a knife. He was suspended on the judgment that he waited for from Karen.  
"I'm sure you can see for yourself how easy you made it for yourself to fall victim"  
Ric nodded his head with mingled acute embarrassment and a fraction of relief at confessing where he had gone wrong. Karen allowed a decent pause to elapse while she leant over, straightened his tie for him and wiped his forehead with a tissue. "Can you deal with the practical problems of the money you've spent tonight, Ric"  
"I'm not sure"  
"Let's put it another way, do you have any credit card debts or any creditors pressing"  
"I suppose I ought to be grateful that my credit cards were cut up and I only have a loan to pay back. Everything I have to spend is taken out before I get it"  
"So you're only going to have one tight month to go through while your salary comes through on time and you know how much you're getting. You made a big time mistake but it could have been a lot worse than it has been tonight"  
Karen's gentle, evenly balanced words soothed their way through his soul. Why had he never seen that before? "This seems to be my week for dealing with addictions," Karen laughed gently. The smile on her face touched him even if he felt that he really didn't deserve such mercy.  
"Who was the lucky guy"  
"Oh, just a friend"  
"You ought to take this up as a profession. You were always a great nurse"  
Karen smiled self deprecatingly. The words 'needs must when the devil drives' floated into her mind when she thought of Ric, John, Jo and herself. 


	175. Chapter 175

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Seventy Five

It was the first of June, and Connie had got up that morning feeling that all was right with the world. Yes, she had a difficult job, but it was the job she'd always wanted. Yes, she also had a husband who didn't really seem to care for her any more, but that was just one of life's crosses that she currently had to bear. But she found that appearances can be deceptive. Her day had managed to go from bad to worse. First there was the child who had been involved in a car crash and who she had been unable to save. It always hurt Connie deeply when she failed to save a child's life, the grief of any relatives always being far more poignant than with the death of a fellow adult. Then there had been the young woman to whom she had been forced to break the news that there was nothing more she could do for her. But that was nothing to what happened in the late afternoon. One of Connie's long-timers had been brought in with severe breathing difficulties. This woman had known Connie since she was a registrar, and Connie felt as though she had been trying to perform miracles on her ever since. Connie's absolute last resort was to surgically fit a Left Ventricular Assist Device, whilst the woman who was only in her early thirties waited for a heart and lung transplant. But then the unthinkable had happened, that worst of all horrific circumstances had occurred after the Assist Device had been successfully fitted. No surgeon likes to realise that after all their hard work, the patient has suffered a massive stroke and can no longer lead the fulfilling and active life that they did before. But with a patient whom Connie had known for quite so long, through her rise to consultant and then to Medical director of St. Mary's, it was doubly traumatic. Connie had to break the news to the woman's family that whilst she might still be technically alive, it was very unlikely that she would recover. 

As Connie left the side room and closed the door behind her, she wanted nothing more than to slink away somewhere to cry. She could feel the weight of all she had gone through that day pressing on her chest like a heavy bolder of nothing but bitterness and regret. "I did tell you it would be an enormous risk," Came the voice she'd dreaded. Will walked beside her, obviously determined to make her feel even more of a failure than she already did. Trying to ignore him, she strode purposefully towards her office. "Connie, are you listening to me?" He persisted as he followed her. Swinging round on him in rising fury, she said, "Don't you dare say I told you so." "But I did," Will replied, obviously trying to gode her and taking absolutely no heed of the far too clear warning signs. "I have had just about enough of the whole entire world and everybody in it, especially you," Connie bit out, the tears rising to her eyes. "So if you want to keep your job, stay away from me for the rest of the day." As she changed direction and strode hurriedly towards the lift, she heard Ric calling to her. He had been approaching the nurses' station from the direction of his office, and had witnessed the entire scene. Turning her furious yet tearful gaze on him, Connie said, "Mr. Curtis seems to have all the answers today, so ask him." Then, as the lift seemed to be taking an eternity to arrive, she pushed open the door to the stairs, taking them two at a time as she fled upwards. Only once she was out on the flat roof of the eighth floor did she feel she could relax. She didn't think that anyone would seek her company up here, which meant that she could finally give way. 

"What was all that about?" Ric asked as he walked towards Will. "You know Connie," will said ruefully. "She always knows best. I told her that using an Assist Device on that patient only had an outside chance of working but would she listen?" "Sometimes outside chances give the best results," Ric told him seriously. "Yeah, well, no offence, but I'd expect that from an ex-gambler," Will said dismissively. "And just why do you think Connie does take every possible opportunity with a patient?" "Because she loves being right?" Will suggested. "No," Ric said, trying to keep his anger in check. "Because Connie will always go that extra mile for a patient if she thinks that what she's doing has the slightest possibility of being a success." "Well, this time it caused the patient to have a massive stroke," Will replied disgustedly. "That's hardly successful." "The point is," Ric persisted. "That she never gives up, no matter how small the chance of success may be. That's a virtue that someone who hopes to be a consultant one day ought to learn, and fast." Turning on his heel, he walked away, taking the lift up to the eight floor. He had seen Connie running up the stairs, and now thought he knew where she would have gone. 

Connie was there where he'd thought she would be, huddled against the side of the building and clearly crying, though still trying to restrain herself even though she was far away from anyone. Walking quietly over to her, he turned Connie to face him and put his arms round her. She didn't have to look up to know who it was, because she would recognise those arms and that comforting presence anywhere. She clung to him as the sobs wracked her body, seeming totally unable to hold back any longer. He rubbed gentle circles on her back, privately thinking that this really was Connie without her usual barriers, revealed to him in all the vulnerability that she nearly always strove to hide. 

"I'm sorry," She said, eventually detaching herself from him and retrieving a tissue from her pocket. "No need," he told her gently. "I've got mascara on your shirt," She said, briefly laying her hand against his chest. "It doesn't matter," he said, pushing a strand of hair back from her face. "I don't suppose you have any cigarettes on you, do you?" "I don't go anywhere without them at the moment," He said, retrieving them from his trouser pocket and handing them over together with his lighter. "Something else for Will to hold against me," She said as she lit one. "The list just seems to be growing longer and longer. Did he tell you what happened?" "Yes. I'm sorry." "I suppose I should have known that or something like it would happen one day. But when you've been looking after someone for the best part of ten years, you don't expect everything to suddenly go wrong at a moment's notice." "You must have got to know her very well in all that time." "I did," Connie replied on an exhalation of smoke. "When I moved hospitals, so did she." They were quiet for a time as Connie smoked, until she broke the silence with, "Thank you for coming up here." "You've stolen my hiding place," he said with a smile, trying to put her at her ease, as she looked sincerely uncomfortable at his having seen her in such a vulnerable position. "Who said it was yours?" she demanded in mock outrage, making him smile. "I've been coming up here for years, any time that it's all become a bit too much." "Are you willing to share?" She asked, the flirtatious enquiry seeming to hold far more depth than it warranted. "Of course," He said, hearing a thousand other questions in her voice and wanting to answer them all. Ditching her cigarette end over the edge of the roof, Connie said, "God, I could do with a joint." "Not while you still feel so miserable," he told her seriously, putting out his arms to again enclose her in a hug. "Yes, I know," She said almost wearily. "It's a nice thought though." 

When she kissed him, he could taste the cigarette she'd just smoked, it somehow making her more human. Their kiss was soft, gentle and lingering, with the passion always there just below the surface, but which was currently in abeyance. "Are you all right now?" Ric asked when they came up for air. "Not really," Connie replied with a shrug. "But I will be." "Is Michael in residence this evening?" Ric asked, an idea forming in his head. "No, thank god," Connie said in obvious relief. "If there's one person I can really do without tonight, it's Michael." "Then would you like me to cook you dinner?" Connie spent a moment or two mulling this one over. "That would be wonderful," She said a little guardedly. "What's stopping you from saying yes?" He asked, not sure where her problem lay. Looking slightly away from him, she said, "I can't sleep with you, not this week anyway." "Connie," He said in slight exasperation. "That isn't the only reason why I like spending time with you." "Why else would you want to spend time with me?" She asked with such open and honest eyes, that he knew this was no fishing for a compliment. "You really have no idea, do you," he said in utter astonishment. "No," She replied a little caustically. "That's why I asked." "Connie," He said with his face entirely devoid of humour. "I enjoy spending time with you, because you are incredibly beautiful, because you fascinate me on an intellectual level, and because you make me laugh." Staring at him wide-eyed, Connie tried to take in what he was saying. Ric was utterly genuine in the things he'd just told her, when he knew that tonight at least he wasn't going to get any pleasure in return. "Thank you," she said, a little stunned by his words. "In that case, I accept your offer to cook me dinner, as I am intrigued to observe one of your talents that I haven't yet encountered." As they walked down from the roof back to the ward so that Connie could collect her handbag, Ric's words kept resonating in her mind, making her wonder at his total honesty. Did he really mean what he'd said, or was he just hoping for a continuation of their sexual exploration of each other, even though she had told him that for at least the next few days it definitely wouldn't be on the cards? She didn't entirely understand genuine compliments, as they weren't something she'd very often had. Being married to someone like Michael did tend to shatter any belief one had in oneself, right from the word go. Michael was the one who had to be held up by false words and platitudes, half the time to keep him in a good temper. But Ric was different. He appeared to genuinely care about her, something Connie had neither expected nor gone looking for from anyone since she'd married Michael. Perhaps it was time for her to begin acknowledging that someone did have real, sincere feelings for her. But where did that leave her own feelings, both for Ric and for her failed marriage? 


	176. Chapter 176

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Seventy Six

A week later, however, Connie was heartily wishing for a lot more of Ric's out of work company, and wishing with the same level of suppressed ardour that Will Curtis had never been born. But at least the devil incarnate had a day off today, meaning that she and her other registrar, Sam Strachan, could get on with their work in peace. Connie had spent most of the day in her office, catching up on e-mails, financial projections for the hospital's next quarter, and the general day to day tedium of being the Medical Director. This did at least mean that Sam could play the part of the dashing consultant, something that often seemed to make him produce far better work, much to her amusement. She liked Sam, even though he was a little foolhardy at times. Her spine cracked as she stretched, having spent most of the day sat at her computer. God, what she wouldn't give for a long soak in the bath and a stiff drink really wasn't worth contemplating. 

But just as she was circling her arms to get some of the stiffness out of her shoulders, Ric tapped on the door. She called to him to come in, but didn't stop her circling. "What are you doing?" Ric asked as he came in and closed the door. "Trying to make my shoulders feel a little less like re-inforced concrete." "Have you been sat there all day?" He asked as he moved over to her, the sight of her breasts rising as her arms rose, disturbing him greatly. As she lowered her arms back to their rightful position, he came and stood behind her, his hands going immediately to her shoulders. "I've been catching up on the latest batch of red tape," She said, trying to resist the urge to groan with ecstasy as his hands moved on her shoulders. "Definitely still re-inforced concrete," he said in that gravelly tone that always turned her to jelly. Then, as his arms slid round her, he said, "I'm told I do a good massage if you're interested." "Very much so," She drawled, leaning back so that her head rested against his chest. As he looked down into her upturned face, he couldn't miss the flirtatious, slightly predatory gleam in her violet eyes. Taking his hands that were resting at her waist, she moved them up to her magnificent breasts. "I wouldn't mind some of that as well if it's on offer." "And can you honestly imagine a situation when it wouldn't be?" He asked, gently cupping her breasts, his forefingers grazing her steadily hardening nipples. "Well, you didn't exactly look in the mood for it after your particularly bad week a while ago." Instantly, his hands abandoned their heavenly occupation and he moved away from her. "Ah," He said, turning to face the window. "Well, it probably would have done me a lot more good than what I actually did do." Swivelling her chair to face him, she caught hold of his hand. "What did you do?" She asked, though she thought she could probably hazard a guess. "I spent two hours at the casino." "I see," She said quietly, not entirely knowing what she could say to make him feel better. "Yeah," He said bitterly. "Stupid, pointless, and entirely pathetic." "Did I say that?" Connie asked with rising exasperation. "In fact, did I even think it?" "You should," he replied dismally. "Well, I don't," Connie insisted vehemently, getting up from her chair. "Do not try and put words into my mouth that I can promise you are not there." Turning to face her, he saw the half-stern, half-understanding expression on her face. Putting her arms up around his neck, she said, "We all come off the wagon occasionally. It's something we all try to avoid, but which does sometimes happen. What you need to do is to try to forgive yourself for doing it, though I've certainly never managed to achieve that particularly difficult piece of introspection." "I'll take your word for it," He said, his arms going round her. Their kiss was tender and gentle, both of them wanting to forget the harsh realities of life for a while, and to do nothing more taxing than give the other pleasure. When they broke apart and Connie switched off the computer and picked up her handbag, Ric said, "So, what's your particularly well-hidden vice, because I've never seen any sign of one?" "If we're still speaking in a year's time," Connie said as they moved to the door. "I'll tell you, but not before." "I'll hold you to it," he replied as she locked the door behind them and began walking towards the nurses' station. 

When they arrived outside Ric's flat, he suddenly began to feel self-conscious about the meagre surroundings in which he lived. Connie hadn't seen it before, and he couldn't help but wonder what she would think. "Welcome to my extremely humble abode," He said as he led her inside. His flat was two floors up, with one large room containing a sofa, a double bed, a table with a couple of chairs and the few possessions he had managed to keep away from his creditors. It had a small kitchen and an even smaller bathroom leading off it, and much to her surprise a small balcony. "It's nice," She said, sinking gratefully down onto the comfortable sofa. "Says she with a place that could probably house at least ten medical students," Ric said as he went into the kitchen to pour them some wine. "You should see where I grew up," She told him ruefully. "Oh?" he said, opening a bottle of chilled white wine that he'd been saving for a special occasion. "Do tell," he said, returning and handing her a glass. After taking a sip, she said hesitantly, "Erm, Peckham." Ric's eyes widened in astonishment. "Are you serious?" "Perfectly," She said as she dug in her handbag for cigarettes and a lighter, having spied a clean ashtray on the coffee table. "Well, you learn something new everyday," Ric said as he sat down beside her. "And it's something I like to try and forget," She told him seriously. "Do you never go back there?" he asked, now really curious about her beginnings. "No," She replied with a shudder. "And I never will." "That Oxford accent must have taken some cultivating." "Yes, it did," She said with a smile. "As did the looks. I wasn't very attractive before I left that hell hole at eighteen." "Now that I don't believe," Said Ric as he lit himself a cigarette. "Believe what you like," She said dismissively. "It's entirely true." "You couldn't possibly say that about yourself now," he told her quietly, trying to put her at her ease. "No, I couldn't," She said, beginning to relax again much to his relief. Ric had noticed her distinct fear of discussing her early life, and it left him with a growing list of unanswered questions. But he didn't need to go into any of them tonight. Resting his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, he got up to put on some music. Connie smiled as the dulcet tones of Katie Melua permeated the air. The soft, sensual music allowed her brain to relax, leaving behind those unwelcome memories that were often far too close to the surface. Sitting back down, Ric put an arm around her, resting his face against her curly black hair as she leaned against him. "I don't really like talking about my childhood," she said quietly. "So I gathered," he said a little regretfully. "I'll know to avoid that subject in future." "We all have skeletons, Ric," She tried to explain. "I just happen to have an entire cupboard full." "You don't need to explain," he told her, wanting to take away any hint of sadness from her thoughts. Immensely touched that he was making such an effort to cheer her up, she kissed him, wanting to get back onto their former footing. 

They sat there for a while doing nothing more than contentedly kissing, Connie allowing the music to wash over her and to lull her into a drowsy, relaxed frame of mind that she so badly needed. "I do believe I promised you a massage," Ric said eventually. "Mmm, I believe you did," Connie said in the low, seductive drawl that made all his senses tingle. "Then, est-ce que vous voudrez se déshabiller?" Connie smirked. "I would indeed," She said, getting to her feet. As Ric moved into the bathroom to find the massage oil, she began removing her clothes and laying them over a chair. "Who told you I could speak French?" "I think it was the subject of one of Zubin's many diatribes about you," Ric said, returning with the massage oil and finding Connie completely naked. "Good god," he said, staring at her in total amazement. "You have seen it before, you know," Connie said with a laugh. "Though the utterly gob smacked look is good on you." "You've been sunbathing on the quiet," He said, moving towards her, his eyes sweeping the entire length of her body. Not one single bikini line marred her perfect skin, her firm breasts looking like heavy, ripened peaches. "I always sunbathe in complete privacy," She told him seriously. "That's what tall hedges around one's garden are for." "Are you sure you still want the massage?" he asked, now standing directly in front of her. "Yes, I do," She said with a smirk. "So I'm afraid that you'll have to wait for the rest." Flashing him a very cheeky smile, she flipped back the duvet and lay on the bed on her stomach, proving that her tan really was all over. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he removed his own clothes, all the way down to his boxer's, which he clearly left on to restrain his almost primeval urge. 

She writhed under his touch as his hands slid silkily over her shoulders, skilfully untangling the knotted muscles to make her as supple and flexible as rubber. God but his hands were fantastic, she thought as she lay there, delighting in every touch of his fingers on her beautiful skin. Neither of them spoke as he worked, allowing touch and touch alone to exchange thoughts and feelings, with the music providing a gently soporific atmosphere. Ric vowed to get to know every single inch of tanned flesh that he could see, wanting to know every little quirk of her body, to be able to interpret precisely what would give her pleasure. When his hands slid over her tanned, toned thighs, she could feel the moisture gradually building at her core, setting fire to the cauldron of lust that was bubbling away inside her. When he had even massaged her long and delicate feet, he slid his hands back up her legs and over her firm buttocks, eventually trailing them around her waist and up to her breasts. 

Connie turned over as he did this, wanting what was to come even more than she had the massage. Making love with Ric was so different to the soulless couplings she used to engage in on a regular basis. He interpreted every nuance, every slight alteration of either her position or facial expression, showing that he took considerable notice of her reaction to whatever he did for her. She hadn't often encountered such a level of consideration, not in fact for an incredibly long time before Ric had come on the scene. Though that wasn't quite right, she reminded herself. John had been just as thoughtful, just as considerate, even though they had only been engaging in a most enjoyable quickie after a day in court. Well, enjoyable until George had walked in on them. But that wasn't something she needed to be thinking about right now. When she turned towards him, Ric began softly kissing her, one of his arms going round her and the other hand teasing at her nipples, using the remains of the massage oil on his hands to stimulate them further. "Do you have any idea just how wet you make me?" She asked, badly wanting his touch to progress downwards. "Oh, I'm that good, am I?" He asked with a smirk. "Oh, yes," She said between kisses. "And you really are wearing far too much," she added, gently tugging at the waistband of his boxer's. After he had removed them, and as he dipped his head to enclose a pert, pink nipple between his incredible lips, she said, "I wouldn't, I don't think the massage oil will taste nice." "Oh, shame," he said, choosing instead to forego her nipples in favour of moving down her body. At the first tentative thrust of his tongue into her entrance, Connie gasped, thinking that she would happily die like this, cocooned forever in such blissful tenderness. Ric knew that he could quite happily drown in the taste and smell of her, the richness of her skin and the sweetness of her flavour almost overwhelming him. When he deftly nibbled on the bud of her clitoris, Connie almost cried out, swiftly covering her mouth with her hand. "I want to hear every sound you make," Ric told her earnestly, gently removing her hand from her mouth. "I'm not sure your neighbours do," She said a little breathlessly. "Oh, don't worry about them," Ric told her, returning to his ministrations. When he relaxed into a highly erotic rhythm of swirling his tongue around her entrance and using his nose to massage her clitoris, Connie's breathing quickened as she tried to curtail the noise she knew she was about to make. When she came, Connie made a sound somewhere between a shout and a sob, Ric taking in as much of the surge of her sexual secretion as he could reach. 

Connie lay gasping as he moved back to lie beside her, and it made him smile to see her face so utterly devoid of hardness. There were so many emotions swimming in the depths of those beautiful violet eyes, far too many for him to accurately decipher. "Don't ever lose the knack of doing that, will you," She said in that deep, husky, definitely post-orgasm voice that he found so sexy. "I will try," He replied, softly stroking the side of her right breast. "Just give me a moment to recover," she told him. "And I might just return the favour." "You take as long as you like," he said, content for the moment to lie here and watch her face. 

When she eventually found the strength to move, she slid down his body like an eel, taking the head of his engorged shaft between her gloriously pouting lips. Ric groaned, closing his eyes to savour every touch of her wonderfully sensual mouth. Connie found that his size was far too substantial to take him all the way back into her throat, so she settled for using her hand on him as well. "I haven't had this for far too long," He said in total ecstasy. "I'd better make up for lost time then, hadn't I," She murmured around his flesh, using her other hand to gently fondle his testicles. But when he realised that if she continued much further, he would be entirely incapable of preventing himself from reaching orgasm, he gently detached her from him. Looking up in surprise, she said, "I don't mind taking you all the way like that, really." "Whilst that thought is almost unbearably tempting," He said, thinking that all his Christmases had come at once. "I want to be inside you." "Then your wish is my command," She replied silkily, swinging one leg over him and sinking down onto him, enclosing him in her silky depths. Immediately, he pulled her down to lie on his chest, kissing her long and hard. As they began to move in perfect synchrony, he clung to Connie, as though he was afraid that she would one day leave him. Then, keeping one arm around her, he inched his other hand between them, seeking out her hypersensitive clitoris, and stroking it to take Connie to a climax at the same time as him. When they simultaneously came, they clung ever closer, Connie internally squeezing him as he spilt his seed inside her. 

As they lay afterward, loosely entwined and occasionally kissing, there was no need for either of them to speak. They were utterly relaxed and entirely content. As they gradually drifted off to sleep, Connie couldn't help but wonder if this was what real happiness was. Ric was undoubtedly her sexual equal, he took the trouble to notice every reaction to the things he did for her, and he honestly appeared to care a great deal for her. Yes, he had his faults, but so did she, so did they all. Give and take, wasn't that what it was all about? In the beginning, she had given Michael her body and her intellectual prowess, at the same time taking his money. But that wasn't the type of give and take that seemed to be emerging between her and Ric. In fact, it was wholly devoid of anything resembling money, connections or her skill in the operating theatre. Her growing relationship with Ric was made up of all the things that really mattered: mutual understanding, real sincere feelings, and the wish and ability to make the other happy. Was this what she'd been missing out on all these years? 


	177. Chapter 177

Part One Hundred and Seventy Seven 

John's voice echoed round in his mind at undisturbed parts of the day when the demands of reading the latest set of trial papers allowed his mind to devote his attention to it. He was hearing different takes of what he might say to Jo to get her to talk about her drinking and rejected every single one outright.

"I have known you for years, Jo as a very dear friend and lover. From what I've noticed, you may be having problems with your drinking……"

He discarded that approach as a minor variation of all the other rejects. As he thought closer about the matter, he was only too keenly aware how stubborn she might be, and just dig in her heels on the matter. He put his head in his hands as his head hurt. 

As he lay back in the wide, comfortable sofa, Karen's advice came back into his mind. The picture was clear enough to John all right. An image came back into his mind of Jo down the years. She had always been studious, caring, dedicated and possessed that easy calm that attracted her to him when the tensions between him and George had become too much for him. He had thought of Jo as his security who would always be there. Everything had changed between the three of them and he had happily gone with the flow, making all past antagonisms redundant. What hadn't changed was his perception that Jo was the steady one, until the evidence before his eyes had finally claimed his attention.

When he thought about it, Jo would have periods when she would drink perfectly normally. It was only in moments of extreme crisis, when she would hit the bottle. At that time, he had always put it down as a perfectly natural reaction. Now he looked back on the past, these occasional blips had become more pronounced and more frequent. He had to grasp the nettle on this occasion even if he risked being stung. He loved her too much to hold back, to blind his eyes and pretend that a problem didn't exist.

To be fair to Jo, he examined the nature of his own reaction to stress. Instantly, he realized that he bottled it up and that it may have escaped in the form of righteous fury, which he would visit on his natural enemy. It had threatened to land him in hot water on more than one occasion although some good had come from it. It had taken some tricky footwork to extricate himself from trouble, even if it were for a good cause. He had to concede that it was a form of living dangerously, but he had good reason to consider that it wasn't in the same league as alcohol.  
"John, you have the makings of a real puritan when it comes to healthy living. You are a fanatical anti-smoker, you fence regularly, you go through vegetarian phases and I have never seen you drunk in my life. How do you account for it?" Jo commented with an amused smile as they sat back on the sofa. She had strolled into his chambers after close of court on Friday and the atmosphere was nice and peaceful.  
"I claim no special virtue about smoking as I have a simple aversion to it," John answered smoothly with a studiously blank expression on his face. Inside his mind, the light bulb has been turned on, as he sensed his chance and seized it with both hands. "I have seen much to fear of what alcohol can do from when I was a young man, just starting out in the profession. In those days, it was a much more male dominated profession. In particular, I studied the behaviour of the more elderly barristers very closely and their lifestyle always worried me. They were oblivious to it themselves but I could see it. I vowed to myself that I would never end up like them any more than I would end up as a dried up old cynic as some of them did"  
"Tell me more, John." Jo asked, her abstract interest aroused in John's early career. "There was one man whose florid eloquence was the talk of chambers, someone who I very much admired. He was my mentor in my early days and I learned a lot from him. It took a little while before I realized how often he took himself down to Pomeroy's wine bar, and used to get thoroughly plastered every evening. I was a young junior barrister just learning my trade and got to realize how much of a close run thing it was that he would be in shape for the next day. When he did get going, he was magnificently eloquent. It was a shame and a tragedy that his drinking gradually destroyed his talents, bit by bit"  
"So you chose sex instead as your form of indulgence, John"  
John winced slightly at Jo's all too accurate verbal thrust, delivered with a smile. At one time, he would have gone into denial, wrapped up in eloquent verbiage but not now.  
"In another era, I would have said that it does less damage than alcohol but now I'm not so sure. I recognize it for what it is and I own up to the consequences of my self centred behaviour"  
"Where is this conversation leading to, John?" Jo enquired, a troubled expression in her eyes.  
"It's just that he declared over and over that he never had a drinking problem. It was very likely that when he was younger he could live with it. It was accepted behaviour, much like the House of Commons in every respect"  
"Why are you now coming out with all these reminiscences?" Jo asked much more sharply.  
"Because…..because…..I am much afraid that you could follow in my mentor's footsteps. It isn't just him who I remember, but others too."

"I don't have a problem, John." Jo declared flatly, trying to conceal that she was working up to hyperventilating. "Am I reaching out for the bottle right now? Am I watching out for you to turn your back to sneak a top up out of your supply of the finest spirits? Do I look like an ..alcoholic?" Jo stormed.  
"Your word, not mine." John added recklessly and bitterly regretted it.  
"I am not an alcoholic, John. I know much more about the matter than you will ever know from my father, from going to AA meetings with him to try and get him to get better. I could not possibly hold my own in such a demanding profession if I was as you describe"  
Jo's body movements suggested a pent up anger, almost a violence in her movements that greatly disturbed John. He sought to smooth matters down with a little diplomacy. "I am really sorry for my lack of tact. I should have been more considerate of your feelings"  
"You aren't, John. It's just that you have been caught out. You can't back away as easily as this"  
"I am not regretting talking to you about my concerns for you, only the way that I put it." John answered in steady precise tones, looking her straight in the eye. A little inkling at the back of Jo's mind registered the sharp contrast between his first attempt to smooth talk his way out of an awkward situation and his later stark simplicity. However, she wasn't in a listening mood, least of all to herself.  
"Look John. I appreciate your concern but I do not have a problem. I really don't. OK, there have been a couple of times when I've had a bit too much to drink but I've pulled through the next day. I really don't want to discuss this further so can we please change the subject and talk about something more pleasant. It's been a long week and I'm tired."

Jo's sweet smile as she finished disarmed John, making him feel utterly powerless to change the course of events. He was accustomed to his power as a judge in his official capacity and his silver tongue as a lover in his private life, but both sources of strength had signally failed him utterly. He had tried and failed to get anywhere and he concluded that he was hitting his head against a brick wall. He could have harked back to Barbara Mills' trial but he felt that it would be foolhardy in her present mood. As he sank back in his chair and sipped at his wine, he could not think of how tenacious Helen was when she was trying to breach his labyrinthine defences. He had to admire her and wonder how she had the drive and determination to make a living out of what he was attempting as a amateur. 


	178. Chapter 178

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Seventy Eight

On Sunday the eleventh of June, Karen went over to see Yvonne. Karen privately thought that she didn't get enough time to spend with her friends, she and her job being irrevocably joined at the hip, at least this was how it sometimes felt. It saddened Karen to think that her relationship with Yvonne had come to such an abrupt end, but she supposed that that was just one of those things. She and Yvonne sat out by the pool as the weather was fine, watching Bell as she sniffed her way around the garden. 

After taking a swig of the ice cold gin and tonic that Yvonne had poured for her, Karen said, "Have you seen anything of Jo lately?" "No," Yvonne replied as she lit a cigarette. "I've seen the judge though, about a month ago, and looking like everyone he loved had died in some hideous car accident." "John? Are you sure?" Karen asked in surprise. "Oh, yeah," Yvonne clarified. "He must have been staying with George, because I came across him walking Mimi in the park, when he should definitely have been at work." "That really doesn't sound like John," Karen said sounding utterly mystified. "I mean, I can understand his having gone through some catastrophe that he for some reason chose not to tell me about. But the skiving off work just isn't like him." "He was sat on the bench, not taking a blind bit of notice of his dog, and I walked up to him without him even seeing me. It was a bit weird really." "Not so long ago, he came to see me, because he thinks that Jo has a drink problem." "Oh, shit," Yvonne said with obvious sympathy. "Is he sure?" "Yes, I think so. The point is, that if Jo does have a problem with alcohol, she's the very last person who would seek help for it. She'll hide away from it and us until it's really too late." "Yeah, and do you remember what happened during Barbara's trial? Jo cried off the second day because she came to court with the mother of all hangovers. It must have been bad for her to go home in the middle of the day." "I'd forgotten about that," Said Karen with dismay. "George covered up for her that time, but neither her nor the judge will be able to do that for ever. The thing with a profession like theirs, or yours, is that it's constant pressure from morning till night with absolutely no peace in the middle of it." "That certainly sounds just like Larkhall," Karen said with a rueful smile. "But you're right. The question is, what do we do about it?" "What can we do?" Yvonne replied with a shrug. "They know where we are, all three of them do. What we absolutely can't do is to try and offer help when at the moment, it clearly isn't wanted, not by Jo anyway. I'd be mortified if I was going through something like that and a few well-meaning friends tried to take away the one crutch I thought I had. Jo isn't stupid, so she'll eventually come to the realisation that what she's doing really isn't good for her. What she then decides to do about it has to be her decision, or it hasn't got a cat in hell's chance of working." "Did you ever think of becoming a nurse?" Karen asked with a smile at Yvonne's vehemence. "Not really," Yvonne said with a smile. "I think all the red tape and lack of progress would drive me insane." "Yet you just about managed to keep G wing on an even keel often enough, without most of the screws noticing a thing." "That's different," Yvonne said with a slight grin, hearing a lot of fond pride in Karen's words. "In somewhere like Larkhall, the order or disorder of any particular wing, can mean the difference between a full on riot and a quiet life, and if you're really unlucky, it can mean the difference between life and death." "And you suppose that the NHS isn't like that too?" Karen replied, lighting herself a cigarette. "When you're short-staffed because the pay is crap, and you've got a full ward of very sick people, and far too many relatives demanding answers that you just can't give them, plus god-like consultants and even more arrogant registrars, it really can be on a par with Larkhall, I promise you." 

"Have you ever thought of going back?" Yvonne asked into the resulting silence. "Not recently I haven't. I remember, just after Maxi Pervis killed herself, I told Mark that I'd left the NHS because I was sick and tired of people needlessly dying on me. Yet I was working in a prison where precisely the same thing was happening. I have thought about it sometimes, when I've been doing my refresher courses to keep on top of things, but never seriously. I like what I'm doing at the moment. In a few years, well, who knows what the future will bring. As one patient once said to me when I was preparing him for surgery, we could all be dead tomorrow and it could all have been for nothing." 


	179. Chapter 179

Part One Hundred and Seventy-Nine

The following week was a nightmare to John. Right from the following day in court, Jo struck the note with him that he had most dreaded. She had performed correctly enough in court, and had gone through the appropriate motions but that vital spark in her had gone. Her submissions were well drafted without that normal burning sense of passion that she felt for the cause. He had even tried his favourite ploy of butting in and taking over the questioning from her. Ordinarily, it had always made her fume and she had always radiated waves of irritation and exasperation but not this time. She merely carried on standing like a statue, and let him get on with it for a few minutes. It was as if she couldn't be bothered to fight with him anymore. At each break in the court session, she promptly turned on her heel and beat a retreat.

In the lunchtime break, he bumped into Brian Cantwell, the opposing counsel. Ordinarily, the man was not his most congenial company but he drew John aside.  
"I was looking forward to the usual fireworks that I normally get from Jo or George not to mention your inevitable intervention on both sides of the case, John"  
"You don't get the same sense of excitement and danger from the other judges and barristers, Brian? You make it sound as if you're missing us." John retorted dryly.  
"You don't ever change but Jo has. She's letting me get away with far too much and that's new for her"  
That confirmed John's worst fears. Utter reactionary though Cantwell was, he wasn't stupid. If he didn't know him any better, he might have thought that there was an element of disinterested concern for her underneath his professed unscrupulous dedication as a hired gun for the fattest fees.  
"I'd noticed," Came John's short reply.  
"I'm not especially close to Jo as you know so I'm not likely to know what's going on in her life. Still, she's one of the club and I suppose that this still counts for something these days"  
"Thanks, Brian." John murmured with feeling, touching his sleeve as he passed on to head back to his chambers. He was not deceived by the man's lightness of tone. 

The week crawled by as the trial progressed to its conclusion. Brian Cantwell was defending counsel and, when it came for the jury to pronounce the verdict, they acquitted the man in the dock. Ordinarily, Cantwell would have visibly gloated at his victory and Jo would have glared furiously at him. This time, he remained standing, eyes downcast and blank faced. In turn, Jo merely shrugged her shoulders and slumped down on her bench, eyes unseeing. As John headed back to his chambers, it hit him hard that she had never popped into his chambers, as she had always done. His eyes stared out of the window, eyes unseeing while Coope worked quietly in the background.

"Do you want any papers looking out for the Human Rights seminar, judge?" Coope asked brightly. This was her tactful way of trying to spark some life into the deeply troubled man who she could feel radiate his worries. "Pick the usual collection of papers I used last time. I'll check later if there is anything new that I need," John responded unenthusiastically.

In the past, John had headed off to such seminars with a spring in his step and a wicked gleam in his eye. He had benefitted immensely from the principles of equal opportunities , which had seen attractive lady judges and barristers demonstrate their slightly mixed devotion to the cause. Now that his domestic circumstances had changed, it focussed him to the job in hand. This time around, he was getting uncomfortably aware that he must be absent at a time when he could ill afford it. He was drumming his fingers on a side table when his phone rang. It took him a few seconds to pick it up and answer.

"Hi John. I haven't seen that much of you recently. All work and no play makes John a dull boy."

John's spirits leapt when he heard George's familiar drawl. He would love nothing more than her company right now.

"I would love to come over more than anything else in the world," he said with deep feeling." I hope you won't find me poor company, as I've got a lot on my mind right now"  
"John darling, you should know better than to stay away. I'll cook dinner for you."

The world outside became illuminated by fresh light and hope for John. He badly needed to share his burden. He couldn't wait to get out of the court building and into his car while the imperturbable Coope volunteered to look after Mimi. Her main feeling was sheer relief that the judge had suddenly cheered up a lot.

As they lay back, peaceful and content after the meal, John snuggled up to George and laid his head on her shoulder while her fingers gently stroked his hair. She could tell that John needed simple affection and comfort from her tonight.  
"Looking forward to tasting Italian pizza and setting the world to rights, John"  
"As far as it goes but I am not entirely happy at the thought of going away"  
George's lips curved in a smile at John's frank admission of being away from the two women in his life as opposed to his previous unabashed relish in tasting all the delights that conference life offered. She turned her head, took one glance at the troubled look on his face and enlightenment dawned.  
"What's holding you back then, John"  
"I will enjoy speaking my mind and creating a few waves. I don't mind admitting that I'll miss you not being around. What's really troubling me is that I'm really worried about Jo. I'm just very uncomfortable at the thought of being away right now." George took it as read that John's feelings were equally balanced between her and Jo. It was just that Jo gave great cause for concern and she agreed that he certainly had every good reason to feel that way.  
"Is that a gut feeling or is there something more to it than that"  
"I'm a bit shy of admitting that I haven't much evidence to go on. I just have a bad feeling about going away. I seem to be in the habit of getting phone calls with bad news when I'm not physically around to deal with a crisis"  
"Don't be shy, John. You're just not used to trusting to intuition. It flies in the face of all your learning, all your habits of a lifetime. There is a time and place for it, John ,I assure you of that." George's tone of voice was utterly serious and reassured John. He didn't really like being overrun by vague fantasies, which appeared to have no basis in either fact or logic. He gave no answer to George but gently hugged her and he lay against her in the calm silence. George let a few moments pass before continuing her questions.  
"So what makes you worried especially now"  
"I'm sure that Jo has a drinking problem. The worst of it is that she's normally fine until she has some major upset in her life and then she drinks to excess. I can still remember the way she was knocking them back that evening when she came to my digs which gave rise to that PCC investigation"  
That vivid mental image conjured up by John set the cogs revolving in George's mind. She recalled a brief exchange in the Barbara Mills trial just before Jo was due to interview Professor Ryan. She had seen how hungover Jo had been and had come straight to the point.  
"Jo, getting drunk in the middle of a trial, that just isn't like you," she could remember saying to her and had overlooked Jo's throwaway line of "That's all you know." She had dismissed the words for so many reasons, because she had found Jo a formidable opponent in a court of law and because sensible Jo would not do anything as reckless as this. The truth was that she hadn't wanted to believe it.  
"Have you talked about the matter to Jo"  
George knew the answer instantly from the painfully long time it took for John to answer. "I did try to get her to open up about the matter and failed spectacularly. She got very defensive about the whole matter and generally bit my ear off. She said that she knew far more about alcoholism than I did from when she had helped out her father who was a recovering alcoholic. I suppose that if she has had experience of the troubles that alcoholism brings, then logically speaking, she should know enough to steer clear from going the same way." "Since when does logic come into the situation, John? Since when have my anorexic tendencies had anything to do with the 'logic' that you describe?"

There was a deadly logic in George's slowly articulated words that caused panic feelings to rise up in John. He clung all the more to George for need of comfort. The irony was not lost on him that, only a few months ago, he was the strong one, helping her come to terms with the operation for her breast cancer. He raised his head at last and looked into her eyes. There was a burning question that was uppermost in his mind. He had to ask George, there and then, as he knew that George would tell him the truth. "So should I go to this conference, George? I feel really uncomfortable about going," John asked in an uncertain tone of voice. "You go, John. You need a break. If anything happens that you should know of, literally anything, I'll be the first to tell you. Besides, I'm not alone as there is Karen who would help out if needs be." "So you'll keep an eye on Jo and make sure that she's all right, George?" John persisted.  
George knew well enough that this wasn't the high court judge asking questions which had been already answered, either directly or by inference. This was the worried human being, in need of reassurance that everything will be guaranteed to be all right.  
"I promise, John. You go out there and give them hell. It's what you're best at."

It was a mixture of George's humour and the certainty that she would keep her word that finally made John decide to go. There was no choice. 


	180. Chapter 180

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighty

George had been worried about Jo all week. She knew Jo was drinking too much and that she was also doing her best to hide it. The stress of the Barbara Hunt trial, which had brought back so many difficult memories for Jo, plus her, George's own battle with breast cancer. It had obviously all been getting on top of Jo for some time, and Jo being Jo, had concerned herself with everyone else and not told anyone how she was feeling. It was in the middle of Friday evening, and John was away at the annual European Human Rights conference, this year in Milan. Jo had been quieter than usual this week, and John hadn't wanted to leave her. He'd even gone as far as to ask George to keep an eye on Jo, both of them discussing the possible reason behind Jo's obvious depression. Picking up the phone, George dialed Jo's number, but got no answer. It's a curious phenomenon that with people we know and love, we can always tell whether they really are not at home, or whether they're simply allowing the answering machine to take their calls. "Jo, pick up, it's George," She said, but with no response. But somehow she knew, she knew that Jo was there and simply not answering, and this frightened her. She couldn't explain it, but some feeling, some instinct told her that Jo was in trouble. Without a second thought, she left the house and drove as swiftly as possible across London to where Jo lived. When she arrived, she knew she'd been right. Jo's car was still in the drive where it belonged, and there was a light on in the front room. When Jo came to the door, she looked relatively normal, but George couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was wrong. They sat, one at each end of the sofa, talking for a while, but Jo's responses were barely more than monosyllabic. She also looked tired, which though at the end of a working week wasn't abnormal, it was somehow different. When Jo's eyes looked on the point of closing, George felt a chill of suspicion run the length of her spine. Wanting to choose her words carefully though failing spectacularly, she said, "Jo, are you on something?" A ghost of a smile crossed Jo's face. "Not in the way you think," She replied slightly drowsily, "No." You're lying to me," Said George, a look of horrified realisation crossing her face. "Tell me what you've taken," She said firmly, a note of fear creeping in to her voice. Doing her utmost to focus her blurred gaze on George's face, Jo said, "I'm sorry, George." "No," Replied George, angry tears now streaming down her face, "This isn't going to happen. Are you listening to me? I don't know what the hell you've done to yourself, but it isn't going any further. Do I make myself clear?" "There's absolutely nothing you can do about it," Said Jo quietly. "Oh, we'll see, shall we," Said George, getting up from the sofa and making for the phone. 

Karen was sat in her office with Thomas, arguing over the fact that he needed more money for Larkhall's medical wing, and Karen was doing her best to explain that she couldn't allocate him any more in the budget. "But in spite of the insistence that we come up to NHS standards," Thomas was saying, "We just can't put that in to practice because of a lack of resources. It's pathetic. These women are human beings, not animals to be allowed to die when they've outlived their usefulness." "I know, I know," Said Karen, "I totally agree with you, but my hands are tied." She was about to follow up her response, when the phone rang. "Karen Betts?" She said, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. But this call was as far from the norm as any call could have been. "Karen, it's George. I need help." "George, what's happened?" Asked Karen, knowing instinctively that this was bad. "I'm with Jo, and I'm pretty sure she's taken an overdose." "What?" Said Karen in shock. "When?" "I don't know." "You need to get her to a hospital," Said Karen without a second thought. "I can't," Said George. "That's the last thing I should do." "George, I've got Thomas Waugh here. I'm going to put you on speaker phone so you can talk to both of us." Thomas stood up and moved round the desk to stand next to Karen's chair. "George, this is Thomas Waugh, tell me what's happened." As George filled him in on the bare essentials of what she knew, Thomas grabbed a pen and paper from Karen's desk and began writing quickly. "Do you have any idea what she's taken?" He asked. "No," Replied George, "But it's almost certainly been combined with alcohol." "Does Jo have a problem with alcohol?" "Yes." "Describe her symptoms to me." "Drowsy, monosyllabic answers, glazed eyes. But I can't take her to hospital." "I quite agree," Said Thomas. "As a doctor, I ought to be urging you otherwise, but a section wouldn't do much for a QC's reputation, and if you take her anywhere near a hospital, a section is exactly what she'll get. Now," He continued, ignoring George's aghast silence. "I'm on call here tonight, so I can't directly help you, but Karen hasn't kept up her nurse's training for nothing. I'll give her everything she needs, but you're going to need some help. Jo is going to either have to be persuaded to move, or to be forced to move. You're quite small if I remember rightly, and even with Karen's help you're not going to manage it." "I'll bring Yvonne," Said Karen, hoping she could live up to Thomas' faith in her. "How long will you be?" Asked George. "She's still fairly conscious, but I'm not sure how long it'll last." "Twenty minutes at the most," Said Karen. "And don't worry, we'll do our best, I promise." 

After quickly phoning Yvonne to put her in the picture and to tell her to pick her up outside the prison, Karen ran down to the medical wing where she found Thomas rifling through the contents of the drugs cupboard. Looking over his shoulder just to make sure it was her, he said, "You know what to do for an overdose?" "If she was in hospital, she'd get her stomach pumped," Replied Karen. "And as that's not an option?" He said, testing the extent of her knowledge. "Make her vomit," Said Karen succinctly. "And you'd use what to make someone vomit?" "Vinegar?" "No, not quick enough, and it's useless if she's insisting on being unco-operative." He waved a labeled, prepacked syringe under her nose before putting it in the empty first aid box he was filling for her. "This little wonder, is a drug called Apomorphine. Given intravenously, it jerks the vomit centre of the brain in to action, and be warned, it's effect is almost instantaneous." "But what if too much of whatever she's taken has already gone passed the stomach?" "Well done," Said Thomas approvingly. "But that all depends on exactly what she's taken. I've included a prepacked syringe of Naloxone, just in case we're dealing with anything opiate-based such as Heroin, though I think if we were, she'd be already dead. If, as I suspect, this is a combination of alcohol and sleeping pills, then I've put in an absolute last resort." He picked another labelled and packaged syringe out of the box. "This is Fruazenil, which is an antiagent to some Benzodiazepines, but works best on Temazepam. Don't, I repeat don't, use this without talking to me first. It's got some fairly nasty possible side effects and needs careful monitoring. Lastly, for when you think you've got everything out of her system, I've put in a couple of syringes of Cyclozine, which you'll remember from your days of nursing is an antisickness drug. If she's got an alcohol problem, you don't want a ruptured ulcer on your hands. However, if you've given her all the emetic, and you still think there's still some residual effects of the drug in her system, you've got a bag of saline to boost her fluids and wash it out that way. Also in there," He tapped the box, "Is a stethoscope, because you need to keep an eye on her heart rate and a look out for arrhythmias, which might mean we're in trouble. There's also plenty of needles, syringes, a penlight for assessing her Glasgow Coma Score, which you must do every fifteen minutes, and some other bits and pieces. We don't yet know if there are any cuts to deal with. Lastly, to cover both our backs, it is absolutely vital..." "To keep a record of everything I do," Answered Karen, "Plus one of her fifteen minute obs, including GCS, heart rate and other vital signs." "I'm sorry," Said Thomas, "I don't need to tell you that, do I." "Are you sure I can do this?" Asked Karen, in a sudden moment of nervousness. "Of course you can," He said firmly. "Besides, you're all she's got who can do this." 

When Karen let herself out of the main gate, Yvonne was waiting for her in the Ferrari. As Karen dropped in to the passenger seat clutching the first aid box, Yvonne said, "You'll need more than that by the sounds of it." "You haven't seen what's in it yet," Replied Karen. "Half the hospital wing's drugs cupboard with too many things I haven't used since my last refresher course." "What the bleedin' hell made her do it?" Asked Yvonne, swiftly moving the car through the blessedly quiet streets. "I don't know," Said Karen regretfully. "John came to see me a while ago, and told me about her drinking problem, which I would never have suspected. He said he thought it was getting worse, which I suppose is why he told me in the first place. But I told you that last Sunday." Karen suddenly realised she was rambling. The terror at what she was about to attempt was getting to her, and she hadn't even started yet. "It's going to take us at least five minutes to get there, if not longer," Said Yvonne gently. "So have a fag, calm down and get your head round this. God knows how, but somehow, we've got to save someone's life. Not quite what I had planned for a Friday night, but there you are." Taking Yvonne at her word, Karen lit a cigarette and said, "I'm impressed. You're being matter-of-fact about this, and I'm the one who's supposed to be calm in a crisis." Taking one hand off the wheel, Yvonne gently rubbed Karen's knee. "Being inside, sometimes means that you have to deal with people either feeling like offing themselves, or with people actually doing it. I don't guess you ever knew Monica Lindsay, I didn't know her for long, but the night before her appeal, she ODed on a load of barbiturates she'd managed to buy with phone cards. Nikki figured out what was going on and her and the Julies made Monica throw up by feeding her cold coffee." "Well, I've hopefully got something a little more sophisticated than cold coffee in here." "We will get through this," Said Yvonne gently but firmly. "I hope so," Said Karen darkly, "Because if we don't, neither John nor George will ever forgive me." 

When they drew up outside Jo's house, George opened the door and said, "I'm glad you're here. Jo's given up talking to me." Karen could feel the nervous tension coming off George in waves. Laying a hand briefly against George's cheek, Karen said, "For a start, calm down. We'll sort her out." "I'm not going to ask what's in there," Said George, eyeing the first aid box warily. "You'll find out soon enough," Replied Yvonne as they walked in to the lounge. Jo was slumped in a corner of the sofa, with her eyes closed, for all the world looking as if she were simply asleep. Putting the first aid box down on the coffee table, Karen sat down next to Jo and gently took her hand. "Jo, it's Karen," She said, sounding calm, assured and above all in control. When Jo made no response, Karen said, "Jo, I need you to look at me. Can you do that for me?" Slowly, Jo opened her eyes, and swivelled her gaze in Karen's general direction. A brief look of recognition had passed across her face, but she hadn't said anything. Retrieving the penlight from the box, and constantly talking to Jo, telling her what she was about to do, Karen shone the light in to Jo's eyes, and afterwards wrote the words, "Pupils enlarged and dilated", in the notebook Thomas had put on top of the other contents of the box. She also noted the time, and wrote: GCS 10, E3, V1 though possibly due to emotional shock, and after asking Jo to squeeze her hand, she wrote M6. These three categories indicated Jo's eye, verbal and motor responses. Rifling through the box, Karen drew out the stethoscope. "Jo, I really need to know what you've taken. Can you tell me?" Jo didn't verbally respond, she didn't even shake her head, but the look she gave Karen compelled her not to ask again. "Can you at least tell me if it's legal or illegal?" "Legal, I hope," Said George hurriedly. Karen turned to Yvonne. "I need the packet of whatever Jo's taken to be found, now. Will you see what you can do?" "I know Jo and this flat better than you do," Said George, trying to find something she could do. "You ever done a cell spin?" Asked Yvonne conversationally. At George's wide-eyed stare, Karen said, "If it's still here to be found, Yvonne will find it." Then, turning back to Jo, she said, "I need to listen to your heart, because whatever you've taken could make your heart either slow down or speed up too much." Warming the diaphragm of the stethoscope between her hands before she moved slightly closer to Jo, Karen really began to wonder if she could pull this off. Gently undoing the top button of Jo's blouse, she held the end of the stethoscope against Jo's skin. Keeping one eye on her watch, and one eye on Jo, Karen waited the recommended fifteen seconds to take Jo's pulse. She wouldn't normally have used a stethoscope simply to take someone's pulse, but as she had been asked to listen to Jo's heart, this way was as good as any. Doing some rapid calculation, Karen thought she couldn't possibly be right. She waited another full minute before concluding that yes, she had been right, and that Jo's pulse really was as slow as forty eight beats per minute. Removing the stethoscope and doing Jo's button back up, Karen said, "George, can you pass me the phone?" George had been watching Karen with a sort of sick fascination. But Karen's request seemed to bring her out of her thoughts. "Why? What is it? What's wrong with her?" "If you pass me the phone," Karen said evenly. "I can get some advice, and hopefully sort it out." "I'm sorry," Said George, handing over the cordless. "Don't be," Said Karen with a small smile. When she got through to Thomas, she didn't beat around the bush. "Thomas, it's Karen. Jo's initial GCS is ten, e3v1m6, and I think the lack of verbal response is down to emotional shock more than anything else. But that's not the problem. Jo is seriously bradycardic, pulse 48 and I think I can hear some slight arrhythmias." "Do you know what she's taken yet?" Thomas asked. "No," Said Karen, and then looked up as Yvonne returned and handed her an empty tablet bottle and a prescription. "I spoke too soon," Said Karen. "Definitely Temazepam, and definitely mixed with alcohol. The bottle contained thirty tablets and the prescription is dated the day before yesterday. So, we can assume Jo's taken all of them." Karen put the bottle and the prescription down on the table. "At least that's relatively simple to deal with," Said Thomas. "But you need to get the bradycardia under control first. It can't be allowed to get much lower. Any less than forty beats per minute and you're courting full heart block. In the box, you'll find a couple of syringes of Atropine, which is what we use to transport Adrenalin these days. You need to put an Intra-venous line in, and get either George or Yvonne to depress the syringe plunger whilst you listen to Jo's heart. Get whoever does it to do it extremely slowly, and when her pulse rate is up to something between seventy or eighty, stop. Remember that too much Adrenalin can be as harmful as too little." After ending the call, Karen again began rifling through the first aid box, searching for the Atropine, plus alcohol wipes and a 14G canula. "What are you doing?" Asked George, feeling utterly useless. "Jo," Karen replied, instead of to George directly. "I need to put a needle in your arm, but I need you to be somewhere where you can lie down. Is that okay?" Jo simply looked at her, she hadn't taken her eyes off Karen since they'd arrived. "George, can you bring the box and lead the way?" Asked Karen, and she and Yvonne gently helped Jo to her feet, and supported her as they walked to her bedroom. 

Once there, George put the box down on the dressing-table and said, "Should she be undressed for this?" "Yes," Replied Karen, as she and Yvonne helped Jo sit down on the edge of the bed. "See if you can find something warm and comfortable, and that can easily go in the wash afterwards." Then, turning to Jo she said, "Jo, can you get undressed for me? Or do you want Yvonne to help you." There was absolutely no reaction from Jo, she didn't even appear to be looking in Karen's direction any more. "Why isn't she reacting to you?" Asked George, her voice higher with unsuppressed fear. "It's all right," Said Karen, still in the calm, reassuring tone that hadn't left her since she'd arrived. "Jo doesn't like what we're doing to her, so she's hiding. But you're still very much with us, aren't you, Jo," she added, though still not getting any response. Then, looking over at George she said, "And please remember that Jo can still hear every word you're saying. So, if you don't want Jo to hear it, then please don't say it." Feeling more useless by the minute, George handed Yvonne a soft, blue, long-sleeved nightdress. Karen and Yvonne between them quickly and deftly removed Jo's clothes, and drew the nightie down over her head. They helped Jo in to bed, and Karen drew the duvet over most of her to keep her warm, but leaving her chest and one arm exposed. Then, picking up one of the alcohol wipes, she removed it from its packet and took Jo's left hand. "Jo, can you make a fist for me?" Still without speaking or looking at her, Jo obliged and, after briefly sterilising the skin on the back of Jo's hand, Karen reached for a pair of surgical gloves. "Any blood nasties I should know about?" She asked. "No, not that I'm aware of," Replied George, knowing Karen had to ask though hating it all the same. Karen began palpating the skin on the back of Jo's hand, searching for the vein situated where the hand joins on to the wrist. On finding it, she reached for the canula and unwrapped it. She didn't warn Jo of the sharp scratch that was coming, because she wanted to observe Jo's response to pain. Jo's eyes briefly opened at the sensation of the needle piercing her skin, but then immediately closed again. After asking Jo to squeeze her hand again, Karen said, "George, I need you to scribe for me. Find the notebook in the box, and write down the time, followed by GCS9, E2V1M6." George did as she was asked. Karen listened to Jo's heart again, asking George to write down the pulse rate which was thankfully still 48, and hadn't yet sunk any lower. Karen put a piece of surgical tape over the needle to keep it in place, leaving the capped end still closed, but ready for use. Walking over to the dressing-table, Karen began digging through the box. "What are you looking for?" Asked George. "Atropine," Replied Karen. "We need to get Jo's heart beating a little bit faster." This was an enormous understatement, but Karen wasn't about to frighten George any more than she already was. Her own fears she could deal with, but right now, anyone else's were the last thing she needed. Finally coming across the syringe labelled Atropine, she turned and faced the other two women who were watching her, half in respect, half in fear, though Yvonne was far better at hiding this than George. "Have either of you ever given an injection before?" George immediately shook her head. "Yeah, a very long time ago," Yvonne eventually replied. Giving her a very sharp look, Karen said, "Good, because I need this to be administered incredibly slowly and carefully while I listen to Jo's chest, and I can't do both at the same time." Removing the syringe from its sterile packet, Karen moved back to Jo's side. She said, "Jo, we're going to give you some Atropine, to try and speed your heart up a bit. The tablets you've taken have slowed it down a bit too much." After fitting the syringe to the canula in Jo's arm, she gestured Yvonne to come closer. "When I tell you," Karen began, "I need you to depress the plunger very, very slowly, a bit at a time while I listen to Jo's chest." Yvonne was as good as her word. As Karen stood with the stethoscope against Jo's chest, Yvonne very gradually allowed the lifesaving force of adrenalin to flow in to Jo's bloodstream. When Karen was satisfied that the arrhythmias had stopped, and that she was hearing a strong, steady beat, she gestured to Yvonne to stop and listened for a further fifteen seconds. "Good," She finally announced, removing the stethoscope and detaching the syringe. "George, write down pulse 78 after 2MG's of Atropine." When George looked up after writing this down, she caught a brief second of sheer, unguarded relief on Karen's face, and realised just how close they'd been to losing Jo altogether. 

"Right," Said Karen, perching on the edge of the bed so that she could have Jo's full attention. "The only way to get this out of your system is to make you throw up. It isn't going to be nice, and you're probably going to hate me for doing it, but that's what I've got to do. All it will take is a simple injection. So, first we'll get you comfortable and then I'll give it to you." Gently, Karen helped Jo out of bed, and both she and Yvonne supported her as they walked over to the bathroom. Once they'd persuaded Jo in to sitting comfortably on the floor, with Yvonne kneeling behind and with her arms round her for support, Karen went back in to the bedroom and once again began digging around in the first aid box. Both she and George could hear Yvonne talking to Jo, about what, neither of them could have said, but it sounded calm and reassuring. As Karen retrieved a prepacked syringe, George asked, "What are you giving her?" "It's called Apomorphine," Said Karen, rapidly reading the instructions on the packet. "And it can go in via the needle that's already in her arm." Looking up, she could see that George looked almost as done in as Jo did. Briefly resting a hand on George's shoulder, she said, "I hope you're ready for this, because it's going to look far worse than it actually is." "I just wish I knew why she'd done this," Said George, the despair clear in her tone. "Now really isn't the time for that," Karen admonished gently. "Questions come tomorrow, because believe me, you won't be the only one asking them." 

As Karen walked in to the bathroom, Jo's gaze turned to focus on her. "That adrenaline's woken you up a bit, hasn't it," Said Karen almost cheerfully. Kneeling down next to Jo, Karen swiftly fitted the syringe to the canula and injected the emetic. It only took a minute or so for it to work. When Jo gulped, Yvonne reacted like lightening and moved her head in the direction of the toilet. Thomas had been right, thought Karen ruefully, the effect of the drug was almost instantaneous. Yvonne held on to Jo as she threw up and up and up, constantly reassuring her, and intermittently wiping her face with a cool, damp cloth. "It's all right, it's perfectly normal," Karen said to George, taking in the look of horror on her face. They were both stood in the bathroom doorway, Karen for the moment having been usurped by Yvonne's equally calming presence. But George was experiencing a flash of memory, right back to that time, nearly three years ago now, when Jo had forced her to eat and then had to watch her reject it. Karen kept a strict eye on her watch, and assessed Jo's vital signs every fifteen minutes without fail. About three-quarters of an hour later, when Karen thought there couldn't possibly be anything left in Jo's stomach, Jo finally spoke. "Why won't you just let me die?" She said, the tears now streaming down her face at her utter humiliation. "Because too many people love you, you silly cow," Said Yvonne fondly. Relieved that Jo was finally beginning to come out of hiding, Karen immediately noted the change in Jo's verbal response from one, which meant none at all, to five, which meant alert. This was a vast improvement on her previous count. She looked up at George, who could hardly believe what she'd just heard from Jo. "I couldn't have put that better myself," Said Karen dryly. Going back in to the bathroom, and seeing that Jo was still spasmodically retching, though with no obvious result, meaning that her stomach was now empty, Karen called to George over her shoulder. "George, can you find me a syringe labelled Cyclozine?" When George appeared holding the requested item, she said, "It says IM. What does that mean?" "Intra-muscular," Said Karen, taking it from her and opening the packet. "I'm sorry, Jo, but this has to go in the top of your thigh." Jo looked like she really couldn't give a damn, as long as she could stop trying to throw up. Once the antisickness drug had taken over, Jo leaned exhaustedly against Yvonne. As they gently helped her to get to her feet, and Yvonne supported her as she splashed cold water on her face, Karen began thinking that she really didn't like the look of Jo's skin. She knew she was right, because Jo stumbled as they were helping her back to bed. Quickly, both Karen's and Yvonne's arms were round her, and they managed to get her to lie down. As Karen put a hand to Jo's face, she could feel that her skin was cold and clammy, and that her pulse, far from being too slow, was now racing. "Jo, can you hear me?" Karen asked, seeing that her eyes were closed again. Jo mumbled, but she was clearly not as alert as she had been minutes ago. Grabbing a fresh needle from the box, she furiously unwrapped it and gently pricked Jo's finger. This brought reactions from eyes, voice and hands, which Karen was heartily grateful for. But she still wasn't happy. Something was wrong. 

"George, get me the phone, now," Said Karen, in a voice not to be messed with and that Yvonne knew only too well. It must have had a similar effect on George, because in a moment, she was back with the cordless phone. 

"Thomas, it's Karen," She said when she got through to him. She switched the phone on to hands free in case he needed her to do anything whilst she was talking to him. "How's it going?" Thomas asked. "Not brilliantly," Karen replied succinctly. "I gave her the Apomorphine, and that's worked fine. We even got a verbal response out of her without asking for it. But something's wrong. Her skin's cold and clammy, she's got a GCS of 8, E2, V2 and M4, and pulse 130. She can't have had a reaction to the Apomorphine, or I would have seen it before now, so it must be the Cyclozine. What should I do? Should I give her the Fruazenil? Is it because there's still too much Temazepam in her system?" "Karen, calm down," Thomas said firmly. "I take it you haven't used the Naloxone?" "I might be pushing my luck," Said Karen indignantly. "But I'm not completely reckless. Even I know that giving Naloxone to an alcoholic who's also a non-opiate user is playing with fire." "Just asking," Said Thomas mildly. "Karen, you're missing the obvious. After an extreme bout of vomiting, on top of a load of alcohol, Jo is simply dehydrated." "Of course," Said Karen dully. "I suppose that's why you're a Doctor." "Don't be so hard on yourself," Said Thomas with a smile. "Usually, there'd be at least four people who knew what they were doing with something like this, not just one." His words had registered clearly with both Yvonne and George, making them see just how much Karen had achieved this night. "How much saline did I give you?" Thomas asked. "Two half litre bags," Replied Karen, looking in the first aid box. "Good. Give her both, fifteen minutes apart. You don't want to overload her kidneys. If that doesn't work, come back to me and we'll think again, but there's no reason why it shouldn't. When you've got her stable, I need you to take a blood sample for me. We need it for LFT's and Creatinine levels." 

When Thomas had gone, George said, "I'm assuming LFT means liver function test, but what is Creatinine?" "It's the chemical that tells us how well the kidneys are working," replied Karen, removing one of the bags of saline from the box, also finding that Thomas had put in the makings of a drip. Walking round to the other side of the bed, Karen reached over for Jo's left arm, the one with the needle still safely in place, and attached the drip and the bag of clear fluid. "Yvonne, come and hold this for me, and steadily squeeze it through." Yvonne did as she was asked, holding the bag up in the air to allow gravity to do some of the work. In a very short time, Jo did begin to look a lot healthier. "That's what you get for thinking you can do someone else's job," Said Karen in an undertone to herself. George could see that Karen felt a complete idiot for having overlooked the possibility of simple shock resulting from dehydration, but she knew that Thomas had been right. Karen had been doing the job of at least three if not four people that evening, and for that, she would be eternally grateful. Checking on Jo's pulse, Karen was relieved to see that it had dropped to 90, returning to the normal range for a healthy adult. After fifteen minutes, Karen replaced the empty saline bag with a full one, which Yvonne again squeezed through. "Are you back with us, Jo?" Karen asked, when she could see that Jo's eyes were open. "It looks like it," Jo replied dully, and it struck Karen that Jo really wouldn't be pleased with her for having done this. Once the second bag of fluid was empty, Karen detached the drip, but left the needle in place just in case of any unforeseen complications. "Jo, I need to take a sample from your other arm, to check on your kidney and liver function." Jo remained quiet as Karen did this, simply accepting that her plan hadn't been allowed to run its course. "Why not the arm that already has a needle in it?" Asked George, ever the one to find something to say. "Because we've been pumping drugs through that arm all night," Replied Karen, "And it would make the results unreliable." When Jo made a move to get out of bed, George tried to stop her. "It's okay," Said Karen. "I'm assuming the saline has kicked your kidneys back in to action." Jo gave her a ghost of a smile as she walked towards the bathroom. George picked up Karen's notebook and began flicking through what had been written, some of it in her own handwriting. She hadn't taken particular notice of it at the time, but now that the crisis was almost over, she had time to wonder. Karen began tidying up the debris of their activities. "You wrote down every little thing you did to her," Said George almost accusingly. "Yes," Said Karen, thinking she knew what was coming. "Why, if you weren't going to go official about it?" There came a sound of disgust from Yvonne. "You're a lawyer, George," She said, "You work it out." "You were covering your back," Said George, putting the pieces together. "Yes, I was," Said Karen without a hint of contrition. "Wouldn't you? What I've done tonight could have landed me behind bars, if we hadn't been successful, and even though we have, it could still get Thomas struck off for supplying me with the wherewith all to carry it out." "So you thought that Jo really might..." Yvonne gave George a glare that would have sent even Charlie Atkins looking for cover. "It was always a possibility, George, you know that. We've been extremely lucky." 

When Jo came back in to the room, she looked like she'd tried to freshen herself up a bit. As she got back in to bed, Karen spoke to her. "You should be safe enough to go to sleep now," She said gently. "Can I have a cigarette?" Jo asked quietly, which made Yvonne smile. "I'd rather you didn't, just for tonight," Replied Karen. "I don't want you jerking your heart rate about any more than it already has been. Wait till tomorrow." Yvonne picked up the first aid box, and Karen got up from where she'd been sitting on the edge of the bed. Jo put out a hand and caught hold of Karen's. "Thank you," Was all she said. "I'd be an awful lot happier," Said Karen, fixing Jo with a relentlessly probing stare. "If I thought for one moment that you meant it. I'll come and see you tomorrow." When they'd all three left the room, Jo lay back on the pillows and wondered just what was happening to her. 

In the lounge, Karen was collecting her things together, and George simply stood watching her. "We'll stay at mine tonight," Karen said, "It's closer. Any problems, just give me a ring." "I don't really know what to say," Said George in an unsteady voice. Karen walked over and hugged her. "I'm sorry," She added, the tears finally breaking free. "I had absolutely no idea what you were risking by doing this." "Call yourself a lawyer?" Said Karen with a gentle smile. After giving George a peck on the cheek, Karen added, "Keep an eye on her, every couple of hours or so and I'll come and check on her tomorrow." George now turned to Yvonne. "Thank you for being here," She said, "We couldn't have done this without you." "She'll be fine," Said Yvonne, trying to cover up how touched she was at George's gratitude. As George let them out of the front door and watched them drive away, she couldn't help but wonder just how John would take this. He'd likely be furious with all three of them. But they owed Jo's life to Karen, not something either of them should ever forget. 


	181. Chapter 181

Part One Hundred and Eighty-One

While Yvonne drove them down the road, Karen slumped back in the comfortable passenger seat. She had operated on sheer adrenaline, which had focused her concentration to deal with the emergency. Now that the situation had been dealt with, waves of tiredness started to flow through her. It was as if she had been living some dream, and she was starting to feel temporarily removed from the situation. She didn't want to consider the rights and wrongs of the situation right now. All she wanted to do was to let herself be driven wherever the car would take her. She felt the headrest take the weight of her tiredness and she watched the familiar profile of Yvonne's face. Everything was comfortable and, for the first time, she remembered the familiar presence of Yvonne's red Ferrari. It had escaped her attention earlier on. She never thought to give Yvonne directions and hazily assumed , quite rightly that Yvonne would know the way.

Karen fumbled with the house key and let them into the flat. After clicking on the lights, Yvonne's eyes took in the familiar appearance of Karen's flat. It stirred up memories, as if seen through the wrong end of a telescope but it reminded Yvonne that they had never lost their friendship. Rather than conjuring up any feelings of hurt and of lost love, it welcomed Yvonne into a haven where it was right for her to stay.  
"Do you want a drink, Yvonne?" Karen offered.  
"If you're having a drink, I'd love a large scotch"  
"I'll join you." "I'll fetch the drinks if you want, Karen. You look about done in." While Karen lay back in her chair, Yvonne poured out generous measures into glasses and passed Karen's drink to her. While Yvonne had been pottering about, serious doubts started to invade her mind as to the wisdom of her actions. She had clicked into action earlier on with the fixed purpose of saving Jo's life and career but that other side of her had started to haunt her. This was the nurse and prison officer who had spent long years in working by organizational rules and more recently, laying them down on others.

"What's up, Karen? You've just played an absolute blinder in saving Jo's neck and you look as if you're regretting it"  
"That's just it, Yvonne. By rights, Jo should have been admitted to hospital when I first got the call. It goes against my instincts to take very dangerous risks with another human being's life "If you had whipped her into hospital, what would have happened to Jo"  
"A proper medical team would have dealt with her instead of a one time nurse with a couple of untrained assistants , a doctor on the other end of a phone and a lot of nerve and sheer luck"  
"So would they have done any better than we did, wouldn't they"  
"They wouldn't have taken such risks and there would have been everything on hand if anything went wrong"  
"And would that have been the end of it? They would have let her go home, say there there, and hope you get better? Are you telling me this one, Karen?" Yvonne persisted. It seemed to Yvonne's mind that Karen felt that she ought to beat herself up about the matter.  
"Well, no," admitted Karen. The thought hadn't struck her. "What do they do with women on the outside, who try to OD on a mixture of booze and sleepers, especially when they find out that there's a drink problem? You can't tell me that they'll risk being done for negligence in doing nothing?" Karen visibly shuddered as Yvonne's blunt words brought back the horrific memories of when her son Ross had taken his life nearly a year ago. She had done her best to suppress that memory, right down into her unconscious where it was safer than in the cruel light of day. The image of the long, brutal gash on the inside of his wrist made her freeze in horror. Suddenly, tears sprang into her eyes. She pressed her fingers against them to blot out that horrible vision and so that no one could see that she was crying.  
"I'm really sorry, Karen. I've been talking like a right cow. I just want to stick up for you, stop you thinking that you've done anything wrong, at least not where it matters. Just remember, the doctor was willing to go along with what we've done. He had his reasons and he's not stupid"  
Yvonne saw in a flash where she had gone wrong. Her choked stream of works and her arm round her shoulders brought a sliver of comfort to Karen that she needed right now. By launching herself far away from the familiar trodden paths, and dragging the others along with her, she felt very vulnerable. "You're not to blame. It's just that I freaked out from memories of what happened to Ross. Jo could so easily have gone the same way and I was playing God with her life. The thought of it scares me"  
"Karen darling, Jo is alive thanks to you. We got there probably as quickly as an ambulance and we delivered the bacon. No one is going to know apart from me, a top notch barrister, a prison governor and a spot on prison doctor"  
Karen was silent while Yvonne comforted her. It was true what Yvonne had said, and she started to work out in her mind if Jo had gone through the inflexible prescriptions of the local hospital. No one knew better than her.  
"I really miss your blindingly simple ways of dealing with situations even if they are technically dodgy at times." Karen's shaky laugh that accompanied her words aroused that tender protective feelings of Yvonne that she felt towards anyone who was hurting inside.  
"Now that you've asked, I'd better explain what could have happened, Yvonne," Karen continued in more even clinical tones. "They would have put her on some kind of medication. It is an absolute certainty that Jo would have come under the spotlight of the resident psychiatrist who would have dredged out everything that caused Jo to act as she did. They would have worked their way round the defences of even a top barrister as Jo is, especially in her present frame of mind"  
Yvonne listened intently to Karen's deliberately clinical discourse. It all sounded suspiciously like the Muppet wing to her.  
"….It isn't impossible that they would section her, oh for her own good," added Karen with a touch of irony.  
"…….which means that she could kiss goodbye to her career. That is the one thing that will hold her together. Some care that is," added Yvonne in laconic tones.

Those brief word shifted Karen's perspective radically. The succession of events following Ross's death, her own recent self harm tendencies and her own struggles to keep her own head above water came back to her. This alternative scenario could have happened to her. Karen could not bear to even contemplate the possibilities of not working. It would make her die inside. For the first time a slow smile spread across her face. The discussion had raised problems of how Jo would be able to get back on her feet but at least the choices were wholly Jo's. They would take their time and place in the future that Jo had tried to deny to herself.

"Thank you, Yvonne." Karen said simply. "It's a long time since we've spent any real time together, Karen." Yvonne murmured in the dim lights. She sprawled out on the settee as the scotch started to make her head swim in a very pleasant way. Karen lay stretched out in her armchair, her feet resting on a small footstool. The soft lights and the peaceful world inside were accompanied by a Tori Amos CD, spreading her sensuous tones round the flat. It was perfect chill out music to accompany the evening and brought back sweet memories. The two of them felt as if the evening would float on indefinitely.

"You don't still blame me for breaking up with you years ago, Yvonne?" Karen suddenly asked out of nowhere while they had been indulging in the idle small talk.  
"You did what you had to do, Karen. I ain't got any regrets but I remember how good it was between the two of us. You were my first love."

Karen leant over and kissed her gently on the forehead. Somehow things were plain between the two of them as it should be for two close friends. It was later on that the two of them slipped into Karen's bed and settled down into bed. They were at peace with each other and their last thought before they drifted off to sleep was that they hoped that George and Jo were similarly blessed. 


	182. Chapter 182

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighty Two

After Karen and Yvonne had left, George made herself a cup of very strong coffee and walked back to the bedroom. At first glance, Jo looked to be asleep, but George had the distinct feeling that she wasn't. Sitting down in the armchair in the corner of the room, George was reminded of Karen's words, "Questions come tomorrow." Therefore, until tomorrow, George had to leave any initiative to talk up to Jo. Karen had also told her to keep an eye on Jo every couple of hours, but George was going to do better than that. She had so many thoughts buzzing round in her head, that she knew sleep was out of the question. So, she may as well keep an eye on Jo for the whole night. If she hadn't taken her bad feeling about Jo seriously, Jo would be dead now. She wasn't going to take her eyes off her for more than a few minutes at a time until she was absolutely sure that Jo was going to be okay. She shed some silent tears for how close they'd really come to losing Jo. George wasn't stupid, she knew just how much Karen had kept from them all, even Yvonne. If Jo's heartbeat had been allowed to get any slower, she really could have died. "George," Jo said in to the silence. "Please don't cry." "I thought you were asleep," Said George miserably. "Hardly," Said Jo with a smile. "You're one of the loudest thinkers I've ever met. Your silence says so much it could wake the dead." "That isn't funny," George said sternly. "I know," Said Jo, thinking that she was becoming slightly hysterical. "Call it delayed shock." "I'm not going to continue this conversation, Jo, or I'll start demanding explanations, and I promised Karen I wouldn't do that until she's seen you tomorrow. But I'm so furious with you," She ended in a tone of pain rather than one of anger. George stood up and made to walk out of the room, but Jo put out a hand to stop her. "George, please don't go," She asked gently. George stopped at the end of the bed and looked at her. "There's part of me," She said unsteadily, "That doesn't want to be anywhere near you because I could slap you for what you almost achieved tonight. But the rest of me doesn't want to let you out of my sight for even a second in case you try it again." "I'm sorry," Said Jo quietly. "Are you?" Asked George, the disbelief all too evident. "Yes," Confirmed Jo. "The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you." "And just what do you think killing yourself would have done?" George demanded. "Not just to me, but to John as well." "George, please don't do this now," Pleaded Jo. "Fine," Said George, turning from the bed. "But rest assured, this isn't over, not by a long way." 

George went and had a cigarette in the lounge to try and calm herself down. There would be time enough tomorrow to get angry with Jo, she shouldn't be doing that now. But what in the world had led Jo to attempt such a thing. Even at her lowest moments, George could never have gone through with something like that because of the effect she knew it would have had on John. But Jo seemed to have somehow got passed this little obstacle. George shuddered when she thought of what John would have done if they hadn't managed to save Jo. Neil's fury at her failing to get Atkins and Merriman found not guilty wouldn't have even come close. If John ever lost Jo, he would self-destruct. She was old and wise enough to realise that her own death would not have had quite such a dramatic effect on him, but she doubted whether he would ever survive if Jo died before he did. Good god, she thought, shaking herself out of the mood of sheer solemnity she seemed to have fallen in to, now wasn't the time for dwelling on anyone's reaction to losing someone else. John would have quite enough to say when he found out about this. Trying to plan ahead for the form that reaction might take was useless. Stubbing out her cigarette, George made her way back to the bedroom to see that Jo was still awake, waiting for her. "The smell of that cigarette is driving me mad," Jo said in greeting. "Tough," George replied curtly. "You should be getting some sleep." "So should you," Countered Jo. "I've been instructed to keep an eye on you." "I'm not going anywhere." Taking a breath to throw back an angry response, George remembered her resolve of minutes earlier not to get angry with Jo and shut her mouth again. Asking if she could borrow something to sleep in, George undressed, and after cleaning her teeth, crawled under the duvet, immediately turning her back on Jo. They lay there for a while, not speaking, both thinking. But George couldn't keep up this level of separation for more than half an hour. Jo had been waiting for her to turn over, knowing that George's need for closeness would eventually outweigh her will to punish. When George did turn over to face her, Jo could see the tears glistening in her eyes like dew on a moonlit lawn. As their arms instinctively reached out for each other, Jo winced when the capped end of the needle in her arm jarred against the pillow. "What?" Asked George hurriedly. "Sh," Jo said softly. "Just the needle Karen left in my arm." "She wanted to leave it there till tomorrow in case of any unforeseen complications, to save her putting a new one in, or something like that. She'll take it out when she comes to see you in the morning." As their legs gently entwined and George held on to this woman who meant so much to her, she vowed never to allow Jo to ever feel so unhappy again. "Besides making me throw up more than I ever thought possible," Said Jo, "What exactly did Karen do to me?" "How much do you remember?" Asked George. "Not an awful lot. Everything's quite hazy." "Well, that's hardly surprising." "I vaguely remember you arriving, but I can't remember what we talked about. The next thing I knew, Karen was shining a light in my eyes and talking to me. From then on, everything seemed to start to drift. The only constant seems to have been all three of your voices, but I couldn't tell you most of what you said. I don't really remember how I ended up in bed, but I do remember Karen putting the needle in my arm, and then nothing until she gave me that injection to make me throw up." "Karen had to give you a shot of adrenaline because your heart was beating too slow. I didn't realize quite how serious that was until I saw the look of sheer relief on her face afterwards. Then, because of all the alcohol I'm assuming you drank, plus the extreme way we got rid of it, you became dehydrated. That gave Karen quite a scare, because at first she didn't know what had caused you to deteriorate. She thought it was a reaction to one of the drugs she'd given you, but after talking to Dr. Thomas Waugh, whose phone presence we also had from time to time, she gave you two bags of fluid which sorted you out." "Thomas Waugh? As in the Thomas Waugh who works with Karen?" "Who else. Karen was with him when I phoned her. So, as well as telling her exactly what to do, though I think she already knew most of it herself, he supplied her with the necessary bits and pieces from Larkhall's hospital wing. He also said that we'd need some help, which is why Karen brought Yvonne with her." Jo looked aghast. "But he could get struck off for doing all that and not reporting it." "Yes," Said George, some of the sternness creeping back in to her voice. "And if you had died, Karen would have been up on a charge of manslaughter by negligence, possibly together with Yvonne and yours truly for assisting her." "Yeah, thanks for the legal update, George," Said Jo hurriedly. "Well then, perhaps that ought to tell you how much we weren't prepared to just let you die," George said vehemently, the tears ever threatening to fall. "As Yvonne so matter-of-factly put it, there are too many people who love you." "I remember that bit." "Well, start bloody listening to it then. John loves you, I love you, your children love you. I know you love John, and I know you love your children. I know that how you feel about me has always been something of a closed book, but I didn't think I was quite so insignificant, that you could just leave us all without even so much as an explanation." The tears were streaming down George's face now, and she knew she was becoming hysterical. Attempting to calm down, she said, "I'm sorry, that's just how much it hurt to know you could try to do something so drastic, that's all." Jo was very quiet for a while. Eventually, she said, "You should get some sleep." "How can I?" Asked George in despair, "I don't trust you not to finish what you started." "I don't think I've got anything like the amount of energy it would need to try anything else," Jo replied, leaving it unsaid that if she did, she might. "Besides, I've got nothing left with which to do it. Anyway, how did you know what I'd taken?" "Yvonne found the empty bottle and your prescription." "Yvonne did?" Asked Jo in surprise. "Yes," Said George dryly. "Seeing as I know you and this flat better than they do, I offered to look for it. But Yvonne's response was to ask me if I'd ever done a cell spin. I think that was how she put it." Jo smiled. "She does have a way with words." They lay quiet for some time, just holding each other close. "I don't ever want to stop doing this, being close to you," Said George softly. "And I don't want to turn in to somebody different," Replied Jo. "I don't want to turn in to someone whom both you and John could come to loathe the very sight of." George drew back from her slightly to look at her face. "That's why you did it, wasn't it," She said in dawning comprehension. "You thought this was the simplest way to stop drinking." "I don't want to end up like my father, George." "Darling, listen to me," Said George, gently but firmly. "We can get through this, and we will get through this. We haven't come this far, and I'm talking about all three of us now, to just let you give up because you might not be able to see a way out of it. We love you, and we will never ever stop loving you. So don't ever think you're not worth it. Both me and John would fall apart at the seams if we didn't have you. Just remember that." As they lay there for a good while longer, both of them taking in all George had said, they were both wondering if George's words really could be fulfilled. 

They both slept intermittently, but George frequently jerked herself in to wakefulness, always feeling for the pulse in Jo's neck, desperate to make sure she was still alive. At one point when she did this, Jo was awake. "George," She said, taking her hand. "I am still here." "Do you blame me for not leaving it to chance?" George asked sleepily. Jo didn't answer. Pressing a quick kiss to Jo's cheek, George slipped back in to a doze. But Jo was left thinking. She really had hurt George, more than she possibly could have imagined. She quailed when she thought of what John would say if he knew about this. Jo had never ever been afraid of John in her life, but knowing she had been prepared to leave him like that would make him angrier than she'd ever seen him before. It would be made all the worse because of how his mother had died. She had died from an overdose, and Jo had nearly put him through it a second time. If she'd succeeded, she wouldn't have had to deal with his anger or his pain. But as she was still alive, and if George told him, she didn't think he'd ever forgive her. "George," Jo said suddenly, bringing her back to full alertness. "Promise me you won't tell John about this." "Sh," Said George gently. "Go back to sleep. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." "He'll never forgive me for doing this," Said Jo, the fear creeping in to her voice. "John loves you, Jo," George insisted, but at the same time wondering if Jo might be right. "He won't love me after this," Said Jo, becoming more and more certain by the minute. "We'll talk about all this tomorrow," George said firmly. Then, as Jo began to drift back to sleep, George murmured to no one in particular, "It might not mean much to you in the grand scheme of things, but I still love you." Afterwards, Jo could never be sure if she'd heard these words, or simply imagined them. 

When George roused herself from sleep for the last time around nine the next morning, she could see that Jo was already awake. "How do you feel?" George asked groggily. "Not brilliant, but I think that's probably hang over more than anything else." George turned over and closely examined Jo's face. "Forget it," She said with a shrug. "I don't have the faintest idea what I'm looking for. Would you like some tea?" She asked as she got out of bed. Jo simply lay, contemplating George's question. "No thank you," She said eventually. "I wouldn't mind another shot of that antisickness drug before I eat or drink anything. I think last night's dose has worn off. Please can I have a cigarette?" She asked with a grimace as another wave of nausea swept over her. When George returned with the cigarettes, lighter and an ashtray, Jo said, "this feels like being pregnant again." "Yes," George agreed. "A cigarette was the only decent cure for morning sickness I ever discovered." "And I bet John spent half his time telling you it was bad for the baby." "Oh, yes, at every possible opportunity. It's infuriating. John thinks there's absolutely nothing wrong with his addiction because it's slightly more exotic than cigarettes or..." She stopped, not quite sure how Jo would take a mention of the thing that had almost killed her. "Or alcohol," Jo finished for her. "You can say it, George." Putting out a hand, George took one of Jo's, gently stroking the knuckles. "Jo, I'm not entirely sure what has made you start drinking too much. I've got an idea as to some of the reasons behind it, but I'm not all that certain. But whatever it is, we will get through it." "I wish I could believe that," Jo said dully. Stubbing out her cigarette, she got out of bed, saying that a shower might make her feel slightly more human. As George watched her walk out of the room, she knew that getting Jo to talk was going to be an uphill struggle. 

Karen and Yvonne arrived whilst Jo was still in the shower and George was in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. When she heard the wrap on the front door, she pulled on Jo's dressing-gown and went to answer it. "Did we wake you?" Karen asked when George appeared. "No," She replied as she let them in. "I was just making tea. Do you want some? Jo's in the shower." As they went in to the kitchen and Yvonne placed the ever faithful first aid box on the table, Karen rested a hand on George's shoulder and took a good look at her face. "You know, Jo's not the only one who needs to start looking after herself," She said to George. "You look all in." "I didn't sleep very much last night, that's all," George replied, moving away to find two more mugs. "And you're still getting over the residual effects of breast cancer and chemotherapy, George," Said Karen firmly. "Rest and nourishment are still things you need in substantial amounts. I don't need to tell you how important that is." "No, you're right, you don't," Replied George a little curtly. "Jo's the one who needs looking after at the moment, not me." "Just be careful, that's all I'm saying," Finished Karen gently, recognising the early morning George who clearly hadn't had enough sleep and who was still wound up from the day before. "How is Jo this morning?" She asked, trying to change the subject. "I think that whatever you gave her last night to stop her throwing up has worn off," George replied, getting the milk out of the fridge. "She says she's not going to try to eat or drink anything until she's had another shot." "Another dose of Cyclozine won't do her any harm, but she really needs to get at least some fluids inside her as soon as possible." "What happened to that blood sample you took?" "It stayed perfectly happily in my fridge overnight, and I dropped it in to the prison this morning. Thomas was going to drop it in to the lab on his way home, but he wants me to take another one today." "When's the judge back?" Yvonne asked, never having been able to think of him as John, no matter how much she might like him. "Not till Friday, thank God," Said George, pouring boiling water over teabags. "Hopefully any needle marks might have gone by then." "He does have to know about this, George," Said Karen tentatively. "You know that." "Oh, and you want to be the one to tell him, do you?" "Oh, it won't be me," Karen said without a hint of doubt in her tone. "Jo's going to do that." "Over her dead body she will," Said George, immediately clapping her hand to her mouth in disgust. "Quite," Said Karen. "It almost was her dead body last night. George, John cannot be kept in the dark about this. Would you want to be if you were in his shoes?" Plonking two mugs of tea down on the kitchen table and leaning against the fridge to drink her own, George said, "No, I wouldn't. I'd be even more hurt, bewildered and furious than I already am." "So you see why he has to be told about this?" Persisted Karen. "Yes, I do," Replied George resignedly. "But you're not going to find it easy to persuade her." Hearing Jo come out of the bathroom, Karen gave her a few minutes before picking up the first aid box and walking along to her bedroom. 

As Jo had emerged from her shower, she'd become aware that George was talking to someone and she knew that Karen and possibly Yvonne had arrived to see her. Jo's bedroom door was closed when Karen gently tapped on it and when she put her head round, she saw that Jo had put on a different nightie and had returned to bed. "Can I come in?" Karen asked quietly. "Yes," Came Jo's equally unemphatic reply. Not wanting George to have any possibility of hearing what she had to say to Jo, Karen came in and closed the door behind her. She walked round to the right side of the bed, clearly where Jo usually slept, and perched on the edge of it some distance from Jo, putting the box for the moment on the floor at her feet. "How do you feel?" She asked, trying to banish any hint of anything but a harmless question from her tone. Jo opened her mouth and shut it again. She didn't seem to know how to describe the total sense of shame and humiliation she was feeling. "I'm alive," Said Jo eventually. "But then you know that." Karen felt the tears pricking behind her eyelids and had to quash an urge to put her arms round this woman whose entire soul was currently radiating nothing but pain and regret. "Well," Said Karen, forcing herself not to go soft on Jo quite yet. "There were a couple of times last night where I wondered if you would be able to say that this morning. You had me seriously frightened at least twice." "You didn't sound it, not once," Said Jo. "That's the one thing I can remember with any constancy is your voice." "First rule of nursing," Replied Karen decisively. "Never, ever, betray your feelings to the person you're caring for." "I wonder if that's where I went wrong with my husband," Jo mused. "I started seeing John when my husband was terminally ill. I've always nagged at John about his lack of fidelity, and I was hardly any better. I never told him I was seeing John, but I think he knew." Karen didn't offer an opinion, she simply waited. "I'm sorry," Said Jo. "Don't be," Said Karen gently, who could see the cracks beginning to give way. "George said you'd quite like a top up of the Cyclozine, the antisickness drug," She said, trying to regain safer ground. "Yes," Said Jo, grateful for the temporary reprieve. "Have you been sick at all this morning?" "No, but only because I've not had anything to eat or drink." Karen picked up the first aid box and put it on the bed on the other side of Jo's feet. Rifling through its now slightly jumbled contents, she drew out another prepacked syringe of Cyclozine. "This is the one that has to go in your thigh," She said, unwrapping it and drawing back the duvet. Jo lay perfectly still as the needle pierced her skin, wishing that all her emotional ills could be so easily remedied. "I need to look in your eyes and listen to your heart." After briefly shining the penlight in to Jo's eyes, Karen wrote down "Pupils pinpoint and reacting." "That's an improvement on when I first saw you last night," She commented, dropping the light back in the box and untangling the stethoscope. After listening to the strong, reassuring beat for fifteen seconds whilst keeping one eye on her watch, Karen wrote down, "Pulse 100", and asked, "Have you been smoking this morning?" "Yes," Said Jo. "It was the only way to stop feeling so sick. Why?" "Because your heart rate is on the high side of normal for a healthy, resting adult, but you have just come out of a hot shower, so that might have something to do with it as well. Did George tell you," Continued Karen as she put the stethoscope away. "That I had to give you a shot of adrenaline?" "Was it really that bad?" Asked Jo. "Your pulse was down to 48 beats per minute," Said Karen sternly. "If it had been allowed to go any lower, it could easily have stopped altogether and then we really would have been in trouble. One thing Thomas didn't supply me with was a defibrillator, and plain old heart massage is not a sure-fire way of restarting it. If you had gone in to full heart block, I'd have had absolutely no choice but to get you to a hospital. You may think that couldn't have happened, but as well as your heart beating too slowly, it was beating out of time. But luckily, the adrenaline managed to sort you out. While I remember, apart from feeling sick, have you had any stomach pain?" "Yes, but I just thought that was from throwing up so much last night." "It probably is," Said Karen, "But I'd rather be safe than sorry. I need to feel your stomach." "Be my guest," Said Jo dryly. Knowing that Jo probably wouldn't like her seeing too much of her body, even after last night's humiliation, Karen kept her eyes fixed on Jo's face as she gently raised her nightie to bunch just under her breasts. Jo was grateful for Karen's sensitivity, but after having either her or Yvonne or both undress her last night, she really couldn't care less. Karen gently palpated the area under Jo's left breast, where the stomach is situated, also listening to its empty silence with the stethoscope. "That's fine," She said, drawing Jo's nightie back down to midthigh. "If it had been in any way swollen or distended, that might have indicated an aggravated ulcer, but the excessive vomiting probably just strained the muscle a bit. But if you should start vomiting blood, you will need to find a hospital and fast, because a ruptured ulcer goes way beyond anything that can be kept even slightly unofficial." "What happened to the blood you took last night?" Jo asked, drawing the duvet back over herself. "It stayed in my fridge over night, and is being analyzed as we speak to check on your kidney and liver function. I've got to take some more now, to do a second check on your liver and to do a toxicology screen to make sure that there isn't any or at least too much Temazepam left in your system. I'll take it from your left arm this time, because no drugs have gone through there in the last few hours, and because the vein in your right will still be too bruised." "Why can't you just take it from the needle that's already there?" "Whilst any drug residues will have been washed away from the vein by the blood stream, they will still be present on the surface of the needle." As Karen opened and put on a new pair of surgical gloves, she added, "I did ask George last night, but do you have any blood complications I should be extra wary of?" "No, you're quite safe." "I'm sorry," Said Karen, unwrapping a new needle and syringe for collecting the blood. "But I had to ask." She quickly and deftly took a sample of blood from the vein in Jo's left elbow, and then removed the canula from the back of her left hand, quickly staunching the small cut with a sterile dressing. When Karen had cleared everything away, Jo asked, "Why did you stop nursing?" "Because people kept doing stupid, pointless, drastic things to themselves in the hope that it would make all the pain go away, only coming to us when it was too late, and all we could do was watch them die. I'm sorry," She said after a moment's pause. "George wasn't the only one who didn't sleep too well last night, and I think it's catching up with me." Then, trying to soften her gaze she said, "Do you feel like talking?" "No," Said Jo, sounding more defeated than ever. "Well," Said Karen firmly. "I don't care whether it's today, tomorrow or next week, or whether it's to George, to me, to John, to anyone, but you are going to do it. I didn't go through one of the worst nights of my life just to let you go back to square one. You know George, she doesn't really do fear, or if she does, she does her best not to show it. But she was almost scared out of her mind last night, and to be honest, I don't blame her. Doing what I did for you last night used to be part of my job. So except for the couple of times when I thought I really was going to lose you, I was able to keep it together, because I didn't really have any choice. Yvonne, being who she is, or at least who she used to be, is relatively good at keeping her head in a crisis and there isn't much Yvonne hasn't seen. But it was different for George. At the time, she didn't really know just how serious the situation was. It scared the hell out of her that you weren't talking and hardly seemed to be reacting to what was happening to you. Even when I explained that you were emotionally hiding, I know that part of her didn't entirely trust me. Afterwards, when she began looking through the record I'd kept of everything I'd done, she was horrified to realise that I'd been covering my back just in case you had died." Karen suddenly stopped. She had wanted to make Jo aware of just how dangerous her flirting with death had been, but maybe that had really been going a little too far. "I'm sorry," Jo said, her voice a half-strangled whisper. The tears were raining down her cheeks, her breath coming in great, heaving gasps now that the floodgates had been opened. Moving towards her, Karen helped her sit up so that she could put her arms round her. "I'm so, so sorry," Jo said again between gasps. "Sh, I know," Said Karen gently. "I, I just couldn't bare the thought of losing someone else to cancer. So, I started drinking because that's always what I do when things get too difficult to deal with. I'm no better than my father when it comes down to it, and I didn't want to end up like him. If I had ended up like him, John and George would have loathed being in the same room as me. I love them both more than I've ever loved anyone, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing them just because I can't stop drinking." Then, after a moment, she added, "And I hate the fact that you're seeing me like this." It was this assertion that brought tears to Karen's own eyes. "Do you remember," Karen asked a little unsteadily, "About three years ago now, when I came to see you at your office, and I told you exactly what Fenner had done to me? Well, that has to be the most humiliated and degraded I've ever felt in my life. I don't think I've ever been so emotionally vulnerable, so brutally expecting some sort of criticism for making one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made, as I was on that day. But all I got from you was help and understanding. No scorn, no telling me I should have known better. So you see, we're all capable of making mistakes, of making a decision and then regretting it. I, George, John, we might all be initially furious with you for attempting something like this, but that's only because we all think so much of you." "Please, Karen, you mustn't tell John about this," Jo was adamant. Karen drew back from her slightly, seeing that Jo's tears had been replaced by a look of fear-laden pleading. "No, I won't tell John about this," She said carefully. "Because you're going to do that." "I can't," Jo said firmly. "You know how his mother died. He'd never forgive me if he thought I'd almost done the same thing." "And just how do you think he would have felt had you succeeded? He'd have felt as guilty as hell, along with George, me, your children, I could go on. I'm not doubting that it will be the hardest thing you've ever had to do, but you have to tell him." "I think the hardest thing I've ever done was to abort his baby," Jo said quietly. "When was this?" Karen asked, concealing her surprise. "Oh, 1987. I was caring for a terminally ill husband, and I had two very young children." It was left unsaid that at the time, it had been her only option. "John was in the process of divorcing George, so it wasn't the right time for him either." "And I'm guessing that you've never really dealt with that," Karen said slowly. "No, probably not," Jo replied, and Karen could hear the distinct reluctance to discuss it further. They were quiet for a moment, and Karen could see that Jo's thoughts were slipping away from the present, possibly focusing on the unresolved guilt of the passed. "I'd better go," Karen said reluctantly. "I've got to get this blood in to adequate storage for a start." "Thank you, for everything you did," Said Jo quietly. "I am fully aware of what the legal consequences might have been if I hadn't made it." "I'm just glad I've kept my qualifications up to date," Karen replied. "But the best thing you can do for me, is to start looking after yourself again. John sought professional help a few years ago, and whilst I know it wasn't exactly an unmitigated success for him, I think it's something you ought to consider. But in the meantime, you have George, you have John, and if you ever need someone who isn't quite so personally involved, you have me. Don't ever underestimate how much either John or George need you. Ever since your threeway relationship began, you've been the mainstay for both of them. George might have spread her wings for a while with me, but that was before she realised how she felt about you," She said with a small smile. "But they would both come adrift if they didn't have you. You are the one person, except perhaps each other, that they would do just about anything for. I think you need to realise that just for a change, it's you who needs to rely on them." Briefly squeezing Jo's hand, Karen got up from the bed, picked up the first aid box and softly walked out of the room, leaving Jo to her thoughts. 

When Karen had gone in to Jo's bedroom, Yvonne and George were left in the kitchen. Both women had, for some time, adopted a healthy respect for the other, mainly because they knew that the other had once been top in Karen's affections. But even though Yvonne had lingering thoughts of one day getting back with Karen, she was still aware that there would always be a private place in Karen's heart for George, something she could never hope to eradicate. Part of Karen would always love George, but Yvonne had no need to fear this. Yvonne was all too aware that Karen would never tie herself exclusively to anyone again. She had been hurt too often, not just by the men in her life, but by the death of her son the previous year, to want to give all of herself to one person, for fear that she couldn't survive if they should be taken from her. Yvonne watched George as she lit a cigarette, observing the slight shake in her hands that spoke of how tired and emotionally drained she was. "How are you doing this morning?" Yvonne asked gently. "Because it isn't only Jo who's been through the mill." "I'll be all right," George said hurriedly, feeling the control she'd hitherto maintained inexorably slipping away from her. "You don't look it," Replied Yvonne, knowing that George needed to talk, to cry, to maybe even shout, and wanting to tell her that it was okay to do this. Yvonne's kind concern was too much for George. "I don't know how to feel," George said, finally beginning to let out some of her anguish. "I'm so angry with her for thinking she could just leave us without a word. Yet, I know how bad she must have felt to do that because I've been there. I've never attempted anything of the sort, but there have been times when I've thought about it. Maybe it's my fault for not noticing how bad things had got. I knew she was drinking too much, and I was working my way round to trying to get her to talk about it, but I obviously didn't do it quick enough." "You can't think like that," Yvonne said firmly. "Why?" George asked, angry tears flooding her face. "I've been so eaten up by losing a breast and going through chemo, that I've probably started taking Jo for granted." "I know," Said Yvonne, laying a comforting hand over George's. "How do you know?" George's curiosity was aroused. "Karen talks a lot about you," Yvonne said simply. "Does she?" George was surprised. "Yeah, of course she does," Yvonne said with a smile. "You will always be very special to her. She doesn't go very long without worrying about you. I would give a lot to be back with Karen, but I know that she'll never tie herself to anyone long term, not now." "She's getting a bit like John," George observed. "He's so insecure that even having two women on the go doesn't always keep him on the straight and narrow." "How's he going to take this?" "I don't know," Replied George miserably. "I just wish it hadn't got this far. I love her so much," She said in total despair, now totally unable to keep her sobs in check. Yvonne stood up and moved round the table, and putting her arms round George, held the other woman close. "I can't believe how Karen kept her head last night," George said eventually. "That's Karen all over," Said Yvonne with a proud smile. Then, her eyes turning sad, she said, "I don't suppose you remember the night Ritchie died." George looked up in surprise. "Yes, I do," She said, wondering where this was leading. "Well, when Karen told me what he'd done, I went in to a similar kind of shock to what Jo did last night. I was holding a glass of wine, and I squeezed it so hard that it shattered and cut my hand quite badly. So, Karen being her wonderful, resourceful self, unearthed my illegally extensive first aid kit and calmly sewed up my hand." She held out the offending object, on whose palm George could see three extremely neat scars. "If anyone could have sorted Jo out on the quiet, it was Karen." "I just hope John sees it like that," Said George, clearly unconvinced. "If Karen has her way, and Jo does tell him about this, Karen is courting the biggest, loudest row she's ever had in her life." "She'd rather let him shout at her and get it out of his system," Said Yvonne matter-of-factly, "Than keep it from him. Karen's had far too many secrets in her life one way and another, and the friendship she has with the judge is too important to her." 

They stayed close for a while longer, George taking comfort from the woman who, to some extent had been a rival where Karen was concerned. But they both looked up as they heard Karen walking along the hall towards the kitchen. "Are you all right?" George asked, seeing the brief tears in Karen's eyes. "No," Said Karen quietly. "Not really. Now I know why they expressly forbid you to treat people you know, especially in a situation like this." "Is Jo all right?" "She will be, but I think she could do with a cuddle. I've done all I can for now." "I can't ever thank you enough for doing what you did," Said George seriously. "Just do one thing for me," Replied Karen, not really wanting any form of appreciation from anyone. "Make her tell John, because I can't keep quiet about this for long." Both George and Yvonne could see that the whole episode was finally catching up with Karen, the stress and the adrenaline of the night before being replaced by the sheer futility of suicide, whether that be attempted or achieved, with Jo or with Ross. 

When she'd closed the door on Karen and Yvonne, George made her way back to the bedroom, wondering what state Jo might be in. But she was simply lying with her head turned away from the door, silently crying. George walked round to Jo's side of the bed and perched on the edge, taking her hand. "I'm sorry, George," She said, the tears making her voice slightly hoarse. "I know," Said George, the tears rising to her own eyes. "I just wish you'd talked to me first, that's all." Letting go of Jo's hand, George walked round to what she liked to think of as either hers or John's side of the bed, slipped out of the dressing-gown that was definitely too big for her, and slid under the duvet. "I love you so much," Said George, as their legs entwined and their arms wrapped round each other. "I just couldn't bear the thought of losing you, not ever." Their tears mingled as they clung together, neither wanting to be parted from the other. "Do you know, one of the things that hurt the most about leaving without saying goodbye?" Jo said. "It was that I'd never told you I loved you. I should have said it a long time ago." "Don't just say it because you feel you should," Said George, who had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that Jo might never say it. "But I did, I do love you," Jo insisted. "It was just one of those things that it took me a while to get used to, and which I couldn't quite make myself say. John has always taken my love for him for granted, and I think I didn't want you to do the same." "And over the last few months I probably have taken you for granted," George said regretfully. "And I'm sorry for that. I've been so eaten up with what's been happening to me that I don't think I noticed quite how much it was getting to you." "I think that's why I started drinking," Said Jo soberly. "I couldn't handle the thought of losing you, not after the last couple of years. What you, me and John have is too different, too special. I never thought I'd be saying that about either of you, especially not about you, but I am. You both mean so much to me that I didn't want to hurt you by becoming what my father was." "I know," Said George gently. "And there's still an awful lot for you to come to terms with, about that and about other things. Do you remember when you made me confront my anorexia, that day I fainted in court? Well, I think it's your turn to face a few things about yourself. Not now, but one day soon, because I'm not risking you ever being this unhappy again." As it dawned on both of them just how much they might have lost the night before, they clung if possible ever closer until, through sheer exhaustion, they fell asleep. 


	183. Chapter 183

Part One Hundred and Eighty Three

As Tom came into work every day, that feeling of satisfaction with himself had bade him never to bemoan the day in, day out routine of one operation after another. He was thankful for the sense of dignity of his work, and his own repaired sense of identity. It enabled him to rise above Connie's outrageous desire to dominate all those around her ,and Will's perpetual bitching. While Ric was in the unenviable position of being middleman, Tom was able to carry on calmly doing what he was best at. He knew above all, that he had not always possessed that sense of stability and he never forgot that feeling of life being helplessly out of control.

It was three years that he had last tasted a drop of alcohol and he had never felt sharper and more alert in his life. He was able to plough through a series of examinations with fairly nonchalant ease, but without that desire to appear to shine which was the consequences of his upbringing. Right at the end of the day, he stepped out into the fresh air and the rosy red sunshine, which still lit up the skyline. It was a simple performance of nature, which once he would have ignored, in his characteristically tunnel-visioned fashion.

While he meditated, his mind drifted back over time with perfect ease and he could see a clearly as if he was watching a movie from the third row of the story of his own life. Right from the word go was that nagging sense that he was the son of a famous heart surgeon. It had given him an enormous feeling of pride in his father when he was little but, as he grew up, there was that sense that so much was expected of him to succeed as well. If he got nine out of ten for a school essay, his father's eyes would narrow in disappointment that he hadn't got ten out of ten. It instilled in him that inner tension that just would not let him be, and engendered that double edged personality trait. On the one hand, that drive for success had led him to where he is now but the downside was an intensely self critical attitude that would turn on him if he ever appeared to fall short of his standard. After a while, it didn't take more than a characteristic facial expression and turn of phrase to twist in the knife. At the same time, he could never free himself of that early hero worship of his father so he was even denied the ability to feel anger towards him.

When he looked back at his life, he had to admit that his father provided stability of a sort. At least he knew where he stood with his father. He might have had a better chance if he had had the soothing, constant mothering that he craved. That was denied to him by his mother's drinking. There were times when she gave him that motherly affection and other times when she didn't want him near her. He grew up permanently bewildered by her reaction as his mother's behaviour was never explained to him and therefore he could never explain it to himself until later on in life. The only sense he could make of it was that she seemed to be only half a grown-up, only half a mother. His father worked all the hours that God sent to further his career and was remote from him, except from those times when he was around and his powerful personality made its mark on him. Dysfunctional as his upbringing was, he knew nothing else in his upbringing and had nothing with which to compare it as he was an only child and he had few school friends who were close to him. To stop himself feeling the pain, started to grow that mask over his real feelings, enslaved as he was by the idea that 'big boys don't cry.' It was only many years later when he went through therapy that he realized how tenacious that convention, how it towered over him and his contemporaries.

Going to medical school enabled him to make that leap of confidence out of his former existence into a convivial, tight-knit institution. Superficially, it was the making of him and ministered to that need for self-approval. As he grew up and became successful, his mask fitted on his face, that slightly combative, self-assurance, and belief in his own abilities, which concealed his own insecurities and self-doubt. For how could he believe in himself when he could never be as brilliant as he remembered his father being and how could he seek comfort when comfort had been always denied him?

He could never remember how his self-destructive affair with alcohol ever started in the first place. As a hard-working surgeon, he could justify himself by saying how understandable it was to need to wind down after a hard day at work. This was a quite different matter from his mother's surreptitious drinking. That was a family conspiracy, that everyone knew but nobody alluded to. It was just that, as his career continued, this prop became very attractive to him, the golden chance to switch his mind off from all the inner tensions, all his self-doubts that continued to plague him. However successful he became, he could never escape himself. He found that the golden elixir provided the blissful answer. As time went on, he found it only too easy to blur and obscure the amount of alcohol that he was consuming as his addiction took charge and its hold of him gradually started its pervasive takeover of his waking hours. His agile mind enabled him to conceal from his consciousness just how much he was drinking. So long as he was able to keep up appearances, he could continue in his own crazy fashion. He was even able to ignore the periodic stomach cramps he suffered from as just a burden he was destined to carry.

It was only when the normally 'fit as a fiddle' Tom Campbell-Gore was rushed into hospital with a bleeding stomach ulcer. He never knew how he ever got there in the first place, just the memory of lying flat on his back, dressed in a patient gown and looking upwards at all the nurses hovering around him. It gave him a mild sense of being somehow in the wrong movie. He wasn't where he should be. He should be up there, standing upright and bestowing the benefits of his knowledge on behalf of the patient. "I don't understand it," Ric had said to Ed. "There's a high level of fatty deposits on Tom's liver. That goes totally against the Tom Campbell-Gore who we thought that we knew." Ed shrugged his shoulders uncomprehendingly. This was the fiery, opinionated top class surgeon they were talking about. He had long admired his daring in sailing closer to the wind than Ric ever dared and thereby performing miracles of surgery. This was a man whom he longed to emulate if he had the chance. He couldn't get his head around Tom Campbell-Gore being a patient, just lying there on the operating table. "This can only be caused by one of four things, three of which can be ruled out in Tom's case, leaving that of excessive consumption of alcohol over a long period of time"  
"There must be another reason, Ric. I've never known Tom to be falling down drunk so that can't be right," answered a bewildered Ed, shaking his head in negation of the very idea.  
"Can't it?" Ric replied tersely, raising his eyebrows. "Experience will tell you that life isn't necessarily what it appears to be. I don't just mean in the operating theatre." 

It was when Tom emerged from the operation that the real wake up call rang loud and clear, something that he couldn't switch off on his mobile. First of all, Ric confronted him about it after the operation, and told him that he wouldn't report Tom to the General Medical Council if Tom got some treatment. For the first time in his life, Tom looked into Ric's eyes and, behind the blazing anger, saw that pleading look in his eye as a close, if somewhat combative colleague, who really did want the best for him. His last chance was before his eyes to stop him going over the edge in total ruination. Suddenly, he slipped off the mask of the dominant charge surgeon and for the first time in his life, handed over the burden of being himself to someone or something else. Perhaps they might make a better go of it than he could. He felt bleak, empty and sick of himself. There was no where else to go and, in that resigned, accepting state of mind, allowed himself to be put through a drying out process at a discreet clinic. It weaned him off alcohol and, for the first time in his life, discovered that his waking hours carries so much space. 

He felt newborn but vulnerable at the same time. All the feelings started to leak through his self imposed walls threatening to drown him. He felt needy, wanting to clutch onto anything in his life that would stabilize him. As he looked back on that seesaw period of recovery, he could see how inevitable that he should fall in love with that infinitely sweet angel of mercy, his psychiatrist, Anita Forbes. She was everything that was lacking in his life. In his stripped down painfully introvert emotional condition, she was the missing piece in his life. With her at his side, there was so much he felt that he could give of himself so that he wasn't just selfishly grasping for a lifeline as a drowning man. It hurt him through and through , when she softly declined his ardent declarations. 

"I must put a stop to these therapy sessions, Tom. I feel that you have gained the strength to continue on your own"  
That was a total bolt out of the blue to Tom. Life was on the upturn now. He had rediscovered a sense of joie de vivre in his soul. This bombshell would knock a vital prop from underneath him. "How will I finally be at peace with myself?" he had asked Anita and himself despairingly." You have been my anchor in life, someone to whom I can express my inner feelings. After all, isn't this what it is all about? I can't be the man I used to be and it is so hard to start all over at my time of life"  
"You have now gained the strength to find that peace, Tom All I have ever done is to gently place important truths in your hands. They truly exist outside of my existence. Besides," she laughed in a self-deprecating fashion," if I see you much more, I might end up getting too attached to you more than is good for either of us."

It took a year of getting over the hurt and coming down off that terrifyingly intense emotional roller coaster. He realised later on that those obscure words were her way of saying that some of his feelings were in danger of being returned. He gained some slight comfort from that revelation.

Never mind, he shrugged to himself as the sun slanted down on him outside St Mary's hospital. All that happened three years agoand, as the old saying went, time is a quick healer. He had managed to work out his new identity, more understanding and sympathetic and less needing success at all costs. He saw the up and coming new registrars and could smile understandingly at them. If they were running a race, he didn't have to be part of it. There was less in him to cover up and conceal and by sheer accident, relative peace of mind sneaked up on him without him having to look for it. He could forget about all those rationalizations for sneaking another drink, without becoming smug enough to consider that that inner demon had been totally banished from within. What it did teach him was that he could spot another alcoholic, or incipient alcoholic a mile away and to pick up on those extremely convincing rationalizations. They were there for those with eyes to see. 


	184. Chapter 184

Part One Hundred and Eighty-Four 

"So how outrageously controversial have you been at your conference? Have you persuaded your continental friends to form a Bolshevik Revival party?" George gently mocked John in seductive tones.  
"Moderately so," came John's nonchalant reply. "I have, of course, found like-minded radical judges and have compared notes with just how repressive our respective countries are. It is curious, for example, how France is equally haunted by the oppressive spirit of Napoleon as much as it is inspired by the storming of the Bastille. Naturally, I prefer inspiration"  
"You always were a rebel." George laughed.  
"Otherwise I have been extremely good while I've been away"  
"No one young enough or attractive enough for your taste"  
"For the first time, I have approached a conference in a purely platonic spirit of the meeting of like minded people and the opportunity to widen my perspective. It is too easy to think that the Old Bailey and its immediate surroundings is the hub of the universe. It isn't and I have had most interesting, far reaching conversations"  
"Which are bound to be transmitted back to that wonderful ex of mine"  
"It will give him something to do, something more to get paranoid and aggressive about"  
"Have you been to Florence while you've been on your travels, John"  
"There's been no chance of that. We've been urged to work especially hard in true Spartan fashion except for an afternoon out sightseeing in Milan. Florence will have to regrettably wait for another opportunity. I trust that you have been looking after yourself while I'm away"  
"Still making lots of money as usual. I've been feeling reasonably well so long as I'm careful and don't overdo things. I have actually followed the advice from the hospital to the letter." "That must be a first." Grinned John. "What about Jo? I've tried to phone her a couple of times but haven't been able to get an answer"  
"She's fine. I saw her a couple of days ago." Lied George with perfect aplomb. "She's very engrossed with a particular case, which is taking up a lot of her time. Knowing Jo, I expect she's forgotten to charge up her mobile. Anyway, Charlie sends you her love and encouragement to you to be as politically badly behaved as I know that you are bound to be"  
"How's Charlie getting on"  
"She's got a new boyfriend who thankfully isn't too spineless and too easily walked over"  
John laughed down the phone at George's comforting voice, while a faint trace of breeze stirred the profusion of geraniums on the elegant terrace. The sun was beating down and he thought that a glass of his favourite Italian wine wouldn't come amiss. There was an interesting conversation developing somewhere behind him which allowed him time to catch upon some reading later on.  
"I've got to go, George. Needless to say, I really miss you and Jo not being around"  
George was both touched and discomforted by John's curious mixture of the nonchalant and the sincere before she made a suitably polite reply. It reminded her to consider that she ought to go round to Jo to help her while prompting her nervousness as to her abilities in that direction. Her track record, as a carer didn't feel extensive or give her a great deal of confidence in herself.

She made an immediate decision to stay inside rather than chase the sun. Staying out of the sun suited her purposes as it helped her to meditate on Jo's situation with time on her hands on a tranquil Sunday. While the sun shone down brightly outside George's house, thanks to the solid old walls of the house, the living room was especially cool. It suited her purposes as much as other occasions when she would sunbathe in the back garden or else soak up the heat on the natural sun trap of the terrace with a dry Martini on the table. She headed for the living room, went to her piano and played a Chopin prelude in a desultory fashion before giving up and lying back on the sofa. It wasn't giving her inspiration. She needed time and the right atmosphere in order to think and sprawling full length on the sofa was the right place to be. As she stared at the chandelier above her, it felt to her that she had only heard fragments of Jo, not the complete picture. Even now, she felt that she had only considered pat explanations. She enjoyed her alcohol as much as anyone else and had been mildly drunk from time to time. That was not a problem for her but it was for Jo. She couldn't really understand why this was the case, certainly nothing she could feel as opposed to perceiving an intellectual response. Since when did any addiction relate to a fully engaged intelligence, she asked herself as the cigarette ash started to drop into the rather full glass ash tray.

Suddenly, memories came back to her of the events of over two years ago when she had been confronted by her own demons. Hadn't she only recently been given a black eye by her frightful ex, ironically now the Home Office minister which had finally given impetus to her own downward anorexic spiral and that it was John and Jo who had saved her? Hadn't she done her damnedness to keep up appearances, to calculate just how unobservant people were of how little she ate, aided and abetted by the modern fashion for slimming diets and sylph-like figures. The ironic thought struck her that anorexia would have been a sheer impossibility in the age of Renoir's rounded beauties. Very well, if she wanted to truly get inside Jo's mind to try to help heal her, oughtn't she take a good look at what had happened to herself? As these buried memories started to surface, long forgotten conversations came back to her mind, helped by the excellent memory that her profession had encouraged. 

"You are the last person I want to see what a total wreck I am. Ever since John met you, I've had it made pretty bloody clear to me just how much of a failure I am compared to you," she had said to Jo at the time. She vaguely remembered Jo's reply in that cool as a cucumber tone of voice while George was drowning in her own torments. "……..I had a termination …………so you see, I haven't always been the perfect mother….you dream about it, wake up seeing it, and all you're left with is the what ifs….he drove me to the clinic…….my husband was terminally ill, and I had two young children to look after…..for a while after the termination and after my husband died, I didn't think I could cope with Mark and Tom……I was so depressed and so exhausted, that I asked my mother to have them, but she wouldn't………I certainly wouldn't say I was a good mother then"  
At the time, George put it down to the sort of thing that a comforter would say but now it started to have new resonances. She knew well enough that her own anorexia was deep rooted. Likewise, John's addiction to sex went far back into John's own life story so why should the same not be true for Jo?  
It was time for her to act and as good a time as any while John was away at the Human Rights seminar in Milan. It was as matter of minutes to phone Jo up to say that she was coming and rather longer to get ready to go. She remembered how John had always been apt to get fidgety and impatient while George arranged herself to perfection.

Jo kissed George warmly when she opened the door and welcomed her in perfectly naturally. "Want a drink, George"  
"Thanks, the usual dry Martini for me. That has always been my favourite poison of choice"  
Immediately, George bitterly regretted her flippant and unthinking choice of words but she concealed her feelings behind her carefully composed features "Each to her own. I'm having a glass of mineral water. It's too hot and sweaty to have anything alcoholic, don't you think"  
"I'm a woman of moods as you very well know from down the years." George retorted, a wide if a little uncertain smile playing on her lips. The conversation immediately wandered along the erratic path of formless chitchat as George was not entirely at her ease. It took a little while for Jo's sharp mind to pick up on the subtext and a broad knowing smile spread across her face.  
"Come on, George, tell me the real reason why you came over much though I love having your company"  
"No reason at all. What earthly reason would I have to come apart from the pleasure of seeing you"  
George was immediately conscious that her tone of voice was a little too forced, too exaggerated for her own liking. Jesus, she could see through herself in seconds.  
"Come off it, George. I know you far too well for that"  
"Am I so transparent"  
"More so than you think"  
In an earlier era, George would have brazened out the pretense for as long as she could have got away with it. Since at that time she had trouble in being totally honest with herself, how much worse was she in engaging with those whom she was less intimate? However much the after effects of her breast cancer might hold her back, she was more adept in emotionally rising to the occasion than she used to be.  
"I've been thinking back over two years ago when you and John forced me to face myself, who I was when I fainted in court after one of my bouts of anorexia. It took a lot to realize that it was not as impossible to discard that suit of armour as I first feared. I had always thought that it was protecting myself but all I was doing was to straightjacket myself. I remember that being made to stand on a pair of scales and letting that show up what I'd done to myself. That was hardly my idea of fun, " George started to say in slow deliberate tones while she was feeling her way. Her eyes were focused on Jo's face, to watch out for the slightest emotional reaction.  
"I thought I'd explained myself to everyone," Jo replied shortly. "It's nothing I haven't done before"  
"……like my periodic bouts of anorexia." Countered George's soft low tones. "I had been doing that on and off since I was fifteen but the fact of that explains nothing. Your approach to drinking doesn't explain anything and does nothing to help you"  
"Do you think that I need professional help"  
While Jo had stood up automatically to meet her challenge, George followed suit to meet Jo on her ground. She paused and past memories shaped her words slowly and deliberately to confess and unashamedly expose her own vulnerability.  
"Everyone needs help at some time or another. I did. Even that revolting ex of mine might need help to get a personality bypass operation if he ever wanted it," drawled George. "I'll get better by myself. I always do if I'm left to myself"  
"Darling, just don't shut me out. I did that with John when Charlie was born and I paid heavily for that for years. It was so easy just to tell John how I felt about being a mother but it took till when Charlie was six for him to find out. By that time, the damage was done. Everyone suffered for my mistake, me most of all"  
George's incredible display of tenderness and that aching tone in her voice took Jo by surprise. A few tears formed in her eyes before she lowered her head to hide them. George wrapped Jo in her arms and silently held her, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on the blouse that she wore. The growing tension in the air died down as the sunlight poured in through the near window. Everywhere was still.

"You have to talk, darling." George gently urged her. "I should know. I found out the hard way"  
Gently, she drew Jo down onto the sofa. She sensed that Jo had to be in the right physical situation before she could talk.  
"What do you want to know"  
"Just what exactly led you to drink more than was safe for you to do"  
Jo thought long and hard, her brows knitted before she spoke at last. "Some of it is fairly obvious. If you are set to defend a woman who is accused of shortening the life of her dear husband who is in dreadful pain and the laws of the country see fit to put that woman up on trial rather than be infinitely sorry for her, it is no wonder that the trial will get to you sooner or later"  
"And how did you feel about it, Jo," came the persistent question. The deliberately impersonal way in which Jo spoke rang loud alarm bells in George's mind. Dealing with Jo's obstinacy felt like a dentist trying to extract a particularly tenacious tooth.  
"Well, naturally, I feel the same way too. You have to drink to wind down after an exhausting trial. That's obvious"  
"Jo, I know how much you have a deserved reputation for caring for your clients while there are those who still think of me as a money chasing, power mad mercenary"  
"You're being unfair to yourself"  
"Well, perhaps there's a grain of truth in me being power mad. I just use it responsibly these days. Wouldn't it be true to say that your caring feelings come at least as close to home as anywhere? Take my breast cancer for example"  
"You know that I was as scared rigid at the thought of losing you from the first time I heard the news. I just did a good job of covering up my feelings as I felt that I had to be strong for you"  
"You were marvellous at helping me pull through that event, Jo." George responded warmly as the sound of panic in Jo's voice revealed that her tension level was going through the roof. "That's why I am trying to help you now"  
"And this is your way of trying to help me?" "We never really got round to talking properly about how you felt at the time of Barbara Mills' trial- or my recent breast cancer, come to think of that"  
George carefully shaped those words from her mind to pass through her lips. They hung in the air for ages while Jo's eyes flicked nervously and her face remained taut and strained. In that split second, George realized that she had moved too far, too quickly.  
"There's little to tell about the trial." Jo responded shortly. "You must know that, quite without intending or foreseeing it, I ended up reliving that part of my life that is best forgotten. You know very well that I started an affair with John at the very same time when my husband was dying. Oh yes, thanks to John, I had to have an abortion. It hardly makes me a model citizen as everyone thinks that I am."

The contempt in Jo's terse tones was clearly self directed and was felt very intensely. She pressed her hands to her eyes for a few minutes as if trying to blot out the memory. Suddenly, with a sharp angry movement, she turned to face George and looked her in the eyes and spoke at a machine gun pace.

"I know that you're going to ask me how I came to take too many sleeping tablets. Well the answer is very simple. I have been used to taking a nightcap or two before I go to bed and despite all that, I have had trouble in sleeping. I went to the doctor for some sleeping tablets and, like a fool, didn't bother reading the instructions that you aren't supposed to mix them. I must have taken more sleeping tablets than I thought I had which was a really stupid mistake. I'll never do that again."

George gave up as she slid her arm round Jo's shoulder. It was obvious what incredible barriers Jo was putting up in talking about it in any meaningful way and how unsuccessfully she had tried to bury the memory for years. It would take a lot more than her powers of persuasion to break down the barriers. 


	185. Chapter 185

Part One Hundred and Eighty-Five

While Jo's desperate attempt to finally blot out her pain had spread violent ripples outwards in every direction, news of this had not reached Helen and Nikki who were feeling very cheerful with their lot in life. It was a year on from when Nikki first took up her position as G Wing governor and, to Helen, it was obvious what they should do to mark the event.

"No, no, Helen," Nikki had exclaimed when Helen had first broached the idea. "I cannot see myself standing on a platform with everyone telling me how bloody wonderful I am"  
"But you're used to standing up on a soap box." Helen had retorted cheekily.  
"That's true, Helen but it was always about justice, never about me. I couldn't live with the embarrassment of it all"  
"Well, from what I've heard from you, you are bloody wonderful. Surely you're not in favour of stopping free speech." Helen had relentlessly persisted.  
"OK," sighed Nikki, surrendering to the inevitable. "Just who are you thinking of inviting round for a party? It's obvious that you've got everything planned right down to the last cheese straws." She had seen how the land lay from the look of glittering determination in Helen's eyes.  
"Well, Karen for a start, and then Yvonne and Lauren naturally not to mention Cassie and Roisin," reeled off Helen, counting the numbers on her fingers, "Barbara is an obvious choice and we can't leave out Crystal and Josh. It would make a nice small group of friends who've known you from way back when. If any of them want to bring their kids round, all the better. It will be like a sort of family get together"  
"You're sure that you don't expect me to make a speech"  
Helen had smiled freely at Nikki's nervousness and shrugged her shoulders. She had suspected that Nikki, left to herself, would say a few words off the top of her head so long as she wasn't pushed.

It was a warm bright sunny day and the flat was unusually smartened up and party food perched precariously wherever flat horizontal space could be found in the flat. Helen had set to work with a will while Nikki played the assistant. The last few sunny days had also prompted them to consider that the back garden offered gentle serenity in which to chill out and the back door was flung open wide. While their huge floor to ceiling bookcase retained pride of place, they had cleared out the normal casual clutter that they had meant to dispose of for some time. In the back garden, they had dusted down and cleaned up the wrought iron round tables and chairs that normally nestled amongst the carefully tended flowers and foliage that was Nikki's pride and joy.  
Yvonne's gleaming red Ferrari just beat Cassie and Roisin for prime parking spot and Cassie's opportunity to make an entrance as she pulled their car up to a halt. The four women were smartly dressed and smiled at each other. A slight breeze wafted down the street and ruffled their clothes. Events had caused them to join up for a reunion and put aside their individual lives for the day, so that they were keyed up with excitement. It had all the flavour of a high school reunion, except that they had never really lost touch with each other. "We haven't seen you in ages, Yvonne." Roisin apologized." We're increasingly run off our feet keeping up with our two. The school demand more homework out of them than when I was their age"  
"There is an end in sight," smiled Lauren. "Take me, nicely settled with a good earner of a job after a few hiccups along the way"  
"That's the bleeding understatement of the century, Lauren. Anyway, what are we doing standing on the street corner. We've got a party to go to, girls," commanded Yvonne striding ahead of the other women who followed along automatically.

She led the way down the flight of steps to the basement entrance to be greeted with a big hug each from Helen. "I was just saying to Yvonne that I get nervous of what two growing teenagers will have in store for us." Yvonne failed to smile. Perhaps Lauren's sometimes psychotic development had been stabilized now but it didn't stop her getting that phone call coming from out of the blue. That memory was still vivid of driving out at night to help deal with one of their favourite miracle working barristers, who had overdosed on sleeping tablets and alcohol. This was a world that even Helen and Nikki were blissfully unaware of, and it was best that they remain ignorant at least for now. Yvonne just shrugged her shoulders, and did her best to regale Roisin and Cassie of her memories of Lauren at the same age as their children.  
"I'm not the best role model for your two," cut in Lauren as Nikki came out to greet them.  
"So it's your anniversary today, Nikki," called out Yvonne with a big grin on her face.  
"An anniversary of one, I can deal with, especially the year I've had. After this, things can only get better. Anyway, the main thing is that we're all together and my event makes a good excuse for a party"  
"Reason, more like, Nikki." Yvonne said softly while Lauren nodded emphatically. She above all else had reason to be eternally grateful for Nikki's kind-hearted care. "Have you heard if Babs will be coming along"  
"That might be her at the door," answered Helen as she set to open wide the doors of hospitality to her.  
A very radiant fresh-faced Barbara neatly stepped into the front room to receive many hugs. The last clear memories of her had been their view of the pale, strained looking woman in the dock. It was clear that months of country living had given her back that appetite for life. A few seconds behind her came the noisy arrival of Josh and Crystal along with their two boisterous children.

The first instincts of a reunion took over as a whole series of crosscutting conversations took place. It was as if these conversations had been reined in due to their lack of proximity, and were now unleashed in every direction. They looked round at each other, not believing that those near and dear to each other were here in the flesh and not just some lurking tender memory while they were busy making other plans.

"We normally get together at the pub across the way from the Old Bailey. I've always liked it there." "In a way, it's best that we're meeting here this time."Yvonne answered Helen's chattiness in grim tones."We won't be trying our best to have a drink and a laugh with one eye on the watch till we go, and watch one of ours go through the mill for another day. No gritted teeth waiting for the verdict"  
"That reminds me, isn't John coming along with the very gorgeous Jo and George?" Cassie enquired with a grin.  
"I spoke to them earlier on," Karen replied straight faced," and they said that they would have loved to come but unfortunately, as ill luck would have had it, they all have trials to prepare for." Yvonne looked equally blank faced while Lauren looked very questioningly at her mother. She had been at home when her mother had picked up the phone, had shot out with hardly a word and had been very tight-lipped on her return.  
"I'm sure that we will be in their thoughts as they will be in ours. We've a lifetime ahead and, who knows, we'll all meet up again. Anyway, Helen's made all the party food and there's the drink of your choice so what say we go out into the back garden."

Nikki's past experience of running her club came to the surface from her unconscious and her understated lead persuaded all the guests to trail out into the back garden. The first sight of it showed the fruits of Nikki's gardening skill set in a modest area. The back of the flats towered four stories up into the air and it made a natural suntrap Karen and Yvonne stood together, half as onlookers, half someplace else being the corner sofa on which Jo was slumped while they helped battle for her life. They were half removed from the smiling and chattering, the gleaming sunbeams as it illuminated the back garden. They made dutiful conversation and, yes, part of them were really pleased for Nikki. After all, she had worked so hard throughout her life to get to where she was and they owed it to her not to be party poopers.

Helen was in her element as she served the drinks to everyone while Nikki diffidently sipped at her wine and chatted to all and sundry, her eyes flicking towards Crystal's and Josh's children. In a hazily introspective mood, she was moved by their unthinking innocence, that they could behave in such a charmingly unselfconscious manner. She had lived in that land once, in the back garden greenery of her parents' garden, the one place where she had truly felt at home. As she came back to the present, she saw dear faces from the past, free from the dingy yellow walls of Larkhall into their natural habitat. She scanned Helen's laughing face, who had got free so that they could love each other. Into the frame of her vision, Yvonne's wicked grin came into sight and she had left Larkhall's gates behind in her turn. Lauren came mistily into her vision, her arm draped round Cassie's shoulders, as happy as can be, having escaped her own prison, physical and mental. Likewise, Babs, so lucky in husbands, so unlucky in their lives, had put her life back together after her second spell at Larkhall and chatted to Josh and Crystal. There was a rich, glowing quality about them all, that sisterhood into which river of experience Josh had been so sheepishly immersed, yet holding his own place. They were all assembled here in their back garden for a purpose, had they not? Yet time freewheeled along, no deadlines, no bars and barriers to hold them in. Only she and Karen remained yet they were not confined except by their duties so that any limitations on them made sense. That was what they were there for, on trust for their friends, Nikki dreamed aloud.

As her vision blurred slightly, it seemed that they were expecting something from her, the birthday girl as she used to be so many years ago. She could not understand how she had hated those family occasions, as she had gained the power and right to customize it to her own purposes.

"I suppose you are all expecting me to make some kind of speech, aren't you?" Nikki broke into the chatter, in louder tones than she imagined herself saying. To her great surprise, everyone's heads swung round in her direction, smiling in anticipation.

"I cannot imagine you doing any different, Nikki. You knocked them dead at that Conference, in front of all those academics. We should be a total pushover," came Karen's dry response. "But what shall I say"  
"Whatever comes into your mind, Nikki. You were always gobby. You've not changed since then," chimed in Yvonne. "You can't come over all coy and reticent, Nikki. I insist." Helen chimed in, grinning from ear to ear.

That nearly made Nikki run for cover. The problem was that she knew them too well and she hated to talk about prisons on such a glorious summer day.

"Why don't you talk about your feelings, Nikki? Say it from the heart as you always do." Barbara's soothing kind voice cut in. Her eyes were infinitely kind and she understood Nikki's embarrassment. The other woman breathed in and out deeply and her tension gradually flowed out of her. The words were out there somewhere as they always had been. All she had to do was to pluck them out of thin air and they would formulate themselves. As her head was raised up to the sun, it seemed that the dazzling rays transmitted that blinding inspiration. She was confident that the words were there in her mind and just needed speaking. She took a sip of wine and cleared her throat .

"I hope this doesn't sound like my party political broadcast, but I just want to say a few words. Any major event wouldn't be complete without me shooting my mouth, you name it, human rights conference, the witness stand in the Old Bailey, prison protests, been there done it but I feel incredibly nervous standing up in front of my dearest friends. In another time, I would have talked about sisterhood because that was my life in running a gay club. Times have changed and I've also learnt to value the good men that I work with, who I have got to know outside work. We shall all be together if we wish to make it so. We've all seen some of the worst times in Larkhall, and we've come through the other side. I just hope that in this last year, I've lived up to my ideals and get the chance to do some good in the world without compromising my principles……"

Helen started as a memory flashed through her mind of saying those very same words way back when. She smiled to herself as she realized how the odds were stacked much more in Nikki's favour.

"……..anyway, Karen seems to be happy with my politics. She is my boss, after all and I have to do as she says"  
A ripple of gentle affectionate laughter ran round Nikki's audience who formed in a semicircle round her. Karen smiled dutifully as Nikki paused to round into her conclusion.  
"I'd like everyone to fill up their glasses right now and drink a toast with me for true friendship and also to absent friends that we all know somewhere out there. The only thing that is equal to it is true love, both for yourself and to another."

Helen, Roisin, Cassie, Josh and Crystal enthusiastically raised their glasses with shining eyes. Barbara smiled without sorrow at her memories which were very real and which sustained her. Only Yvonne and Karen felt chilled to the bone. They wanted to be incredibly moved by Nikki's typical display of free flowing emotion and wished that they could be inside the magic world that Nikki conjured up so powerfully. More than any other time, they wished that they could close their eyes and not see and feel the darkness that the negation of this conjured up. If only life were that easy. 


	186. Chapter 186

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighty Six

It took Karen only two more days to come to the realisation that she needed to talk about what she'd done for Jo, and not just to anyone, but to someone who would fully understand the magnitude of what she had done. It wasn't usually in Karen's nature to want to confess her sins, but this time was very different. When she turned up on Ric's doorstep therefore, she had to wonder at the sanity of being there in the first place. 

"This is a nice surprise," Ric said as he opened the door to her, Karen never having seen inside his current abode. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" "I need to tell you something," Karen began a little cautiously. "After which I think you will quite rightly tell me just how stupid I am." They were upstairs in his bedsit by this time, and Ric gestured to the sofa for her to sit down. "Wine, scotch, or coffee?" He offered, seeing that she looked incredibly tense, and perhaps even frightened of whatever it was she had to tell him. "Scotch, if you have any," She replied, knowing that if there had ever been a time when she really needed some Dutch courage, now was that time. After pouring both Karen and himself a large dose of the amber-coloured liquid, he sat down next to her, pushed an ashtray towards her and simply waited for her to start. 

"Not too long ago," she began after taking a swig of her scotch. "John came to see me because he was convinced that Jo had, or has, a drink problem. There wasn't much I could suggest, apart from his actually talking to her about it. I've no idea whether or not he did, but I suspect he did. John is currently away at the Human Rights seminar in Milan, and last Friday night, Jo took an overdose." "Well, she didn't get admitted to St. Mary's, so she must have gone somewhere else," Was Ric's reply. "She didn't get admitted anywhere," Karen told him quietly. "She got treated at home." Ric stared at her, far too many things were being added up in his brain, leading him to the conclusion that he honestly didn't want to face. "Am I to assume that Jo Mills was treated for an overdose, by a nurse, a fully-qualified one admittedly, but a nurse nevertheless? Not to mention the fact that you are certainly not qualified to make the types of decisions that may arise in such a situation?" "What do you want me to say?" Karen asked him. "Yes, I treated her myself, having obtained the necessary drugs from Larkhall's hospital wing." "With the help and say so of your resident doctor?" Ric demanded, his ire rising at the utter incongruity of the situation. "Yes," Karen replied, hoping against hope that Ric didn't go looking for the name of her resident doctor in order to make this official. "Start at the beginning," He said, sounding half-exasperated, and half-proud of her achievement. 

"I was closeted in my office with our resident doctor, whose name I am not about to give you, when I received a phone call from George. She told me that she thought Jo had taken an overdose, and I was all for getting her to a hospital, but George refused, pointing out what a section would do to a QC's reputation. Please don't say it, because I know that a person's life is far more important than their professional reputation, but our doctor agreed with George, which was certainly something of a surprise. So, he supplied me with everything I might need, bar a defibrillator, and as he was on duty, this was something I had to sort out myself." "And did you?" Ric asked, not unkindly. "Yes, though there were a few fraught moments. I had to give her a shot of adrenaline because her pulse rate had gone down to 48 beats per minute. That was a bit scary to say the least." "What did she overdose on?" "Alcohol and sleeping pills, a lethal combination that we used to see nearly three times a week when I was working with you all those years ago." 

"Karen," Ric said carefully. "I'm not going to tell you how stupid such a course of action was, because I think you already know that. You aren't exactly without intelligence, so you will be aware that should this ever come to light in any official sense, both you and your resident hero would lose your registration. Now, that won't happen through me, but only because I am assuming that Jo is to all intents and purposes all right. If she wasn't, then that would be a different matter altogether." "I know," Karen replied in a tight little voice. "But I couldn't just let her die. I couldn't just sit there and refuse to help, because it might have meant me losing my registration. I had the knowledge and the drugs with which to help her, neither of which I had with Ross. I had no idea that he was contemplating killing himself until he'd actually succeeded, so there was absolutely nothing I could do to help him. But I could help Jo, so I had to do it." 

Ric had been pacing the room as he'd listened to her explanations, but when he heard the words of a grieving mother accompanied by the tears that were now drenching her cheeks, he realised that Jo wasn't really the root of the problem, but the death of her son the year before. Sitting down next to her on the sofa, he put his arms round her and silently held her, trying to offer what comfort he possibly could. "You did this for Jo because you couldn't do the same for Ross, didn't you." "It sounds stupid, doesn't it," Karen replied through her tears, always having felt safe and secure in this man's arms. "No, of course it doesn't," Ric told her gently. "But in this job, you need to be able to detach yourself from any feelings you might have. Emotions, especially that of unresolved grief, have a tendency to enable us to make decisions that we wouldn't otherwise even entertain. Now, whilst part of me could cheerfully wring your neck for trying to act the doctor you certainly aren't, I do understand why you did it. But under no circumstances must you do anything of the kind again. I have a deep-seted wish that one day, maybe in a few years time, you will come back to nursing, and work with me as you did before. You did the nursing profession a great disservice when you left it, because caring for people, and helping to cure them of whatever disease or injury they came in with, was and I suspect always will be what you do best. I have no idea just how much impromptu nursing you have had to do during your stint in the prison service, but I also suspect that when it has been a necessity, you have risen to the challenge admirably." "Delivering babies and dealing with those who cut themselves has been the extent of my nursing involvement with inmates," Karen replied with a watery smile. "I wouldn't have thought that delivering babies was a usual occurrence," Ric said with some surprise. "Oh yes," Karen assured him. "I have delivered a baby in a cell before now, and the medical team only arrived when it was all over." 

They sat in contented silence for a while, their old familiar position of having their arms around each other being something that neither felt needed any comment. "There is one thing that I would like you to do for me," Ric said eventually, getting them both back onto a professional footing. "I need you to ask Jo to come and see me. There's no telling what damage she might have done to her liver in all this." "I took blood samples for LFT's and Creatonine, so the results ought to be available by now." "Well, I'll check that out in the morning, but as I have a liver clinic tomorrow afternoon, that would be the best time for Jo to come and see me, as I'll be in theatre all morning. Did you write a report on everything you did, what drugs you used and so on?" "Of course I did," She said a little defensively. "Even if this wasn't going to go official, I wasn't going to be accused of not doing my job properly." "That sounds like the Karen Betts I know," He said with a smile. "Always sticking to protocol where possible." "That's hardly what I did last Friday night, now is it," She said in slight disgust. "No, but most people break the rules somewhere along the line, just not usually so spectacularly. Does the Judge know about this yet?" "No," Karen said with a slight frown. "And I'm dreading the reaction he is bound to have when he is told. That isn't going to be either quiet or restrained if I know John." 


	187. Chapter 187

Part One Hundred and Eighty Seven

The dilemma continued to haunt Jo, as she could hear competing and opposing voices echoing round and round at the back of her head. Her first thought was telling John set her into a blind panic, both for herself and for John at the way he would react. She could not get away from the fact that, if she chose to tell John, her previous actions would be directly responsible for John reliving the trauma of when his mother committed suicide. She knew only too well that the fact that Jo had survived would cut no ice with him. That blind fear of losing her would let his anger take charge of him straightaway like a runaway train. On the other hand, she couldn't help but hear Karen's pleas to tell John, no matter how hard it might be. She could sense that, if John weren't told, they would irrevocably commit themselves to a lifetime's silence and what would happen if John finally found out years down the line. She had understood how much as a shock to his system to hear that he had been adopted only when he was in his fifties. Her mindset abruptly reversed course and seized upon her new resolve. Everything else was blotted out, had to be blotted out. After all, she was most comfortable with upholding the truth and doing what she had thought of as the right thing, for the long haul in life.

She resolved to seek out George and speak to her about the matter, the one other person most at the centre of their relationship. Even though it was summer, the weather was unusually blustery and cold and a cold blast of air greeted Jo as she stepped out of her car to greet George at her expensively furnished office right by Knightsbridge. She had mixed feelings about the visit. On the positive side were the nearby shops, which she could be persuaded to spend some spare time to browse round. On the negative side was Jo's fear of telling George of her intension to tell John about her overdose and what led up to it. Yes, she could understand George being protective of John on his behalf, but surely George didn't have a monopoly on this feeling? Why was she seeking clash of wills, she might ask herself? Her only answer was that she eagerly sought to bury at last all the arguments had been running round at a furious speed like a mouse inside a revolving wheel. She had to resolve them somehow, rather than stew over the whole thing.

"Mind if I smoke?" came Jo's terse greeting. Even though it was four days since her overdose, Jo was still not her usual self.  
"Feel free, Jo. The politically correct police squad aren't here to batter down my front door to stop you"  
It was on the tip of Jo's tongue to refer to John in their habitually bantering way until she stopped short and coloured at the memory of her recent overdose. It had diminished her own self-image, and feelings of her own unworthiness washed over making it impossible for her to criticise others, even in jest. Instead, she fumbled blindly for her handbag, muttering to herself in irritation as the zip jammed while George maintained a tactful silence. Eventually she found her lighter and packet of cigarettes, offered one to George who accepted it more out of diplomacy than anything else. She inhaled deeply and blew a cloud of smoke into the air while George's cigarette smouldered away. 

"I thought I'd let you know that I've made up my mind to tell John what's gone on recently. I owe it to him to be honest with him and not to leave him totally in the dark"  
George instantly stubbed out her cigarette. This was what she had dreaded. This was Jo all over at her worst. "Do you really think that honesty and sincerity is all that matters in life, Jo"  
"That's the way I've always led my life," Jo replied stiffly."It normally works for me"  
"'A little sincerity can be a dangerous thing and a great deal of it, absolutely fatal.' Oscar Wilde. Try his insight for size"  
"I could never understand what he was getting at. The man always struck me as a hopeless cynic"  
Though George truly loved Jo, her own illness did not find her at her most patient and her attitude was beginning to irritate her. Jo was conveniently overlooking her concealment of her own alcohol intake but she let the matter pass. "It means, darling, that you have to think very carefully of the impact of your 'sincerity' before you dare to inflict it on somebody else. You have to consider the other person's feelings and just what the reaction will be to your 'honesty' and 'sincerity'. Besides, there are ways and means of saying things. It's all about compassion at the end of the day"  
"George, you are being so short sighted. OK, suppose I accept what you say for the sake of argument and keep quiet about the matter, then what happens three months down the line? Or six months? This sort of thing can go on forever. I am having nothing to do with any cover up even if you're comfortable with the idea"  
"Oh so exactly what are you going to say to him? I notice in your opening remark how coy you were about describing your OD. If you have trouble talking to me about it who was there at the time, how much more likely are you to be relaxed in telling John who wasn't there"  
"That is not the point. George, I know you mean well but you are simply muddying the waters"  
"Jo, watch my lips. They are well and truly muddied already. There are no grand sweeping answers. Surely you must see that"  
Jo shook her head in confusion. After she had psyched herself up to the most fearful decision she had ever made in her life, George's attitude seemed perverse in whittling away at her justification and confusing her mind.  
"You're forgetting one thing, George. Karen is insistent that I tell John because if I had succeeded in doing what I intended to do, then John would be reliving his worst nightmare if things had worked out differently"  
"Karen is right about John's feelings, Jo but what on earth has that got to do with whether you tell him? I know what Karen wants you to do but that doesn't mean that you should do it. She told me that she can't keep quiet about it for long. In other words, she's scared about appearing to cover the whole thing up. I agree that there is something in how she feels about that. The bottom line is how on earth you can tell John exactly what you've done, especially with what happened to his mother . What sort of guilt are you going to land him with, Jo? Just think carefully"  
"All you've asked me to do is to delay telling John till some time in the future and wrap it up in a sugar pill. That can't be done and you know that, George. I'm going to do what has to be done and not because Karen is telling me to. " Jo answered in steely determined tones.  
A wave of weakness flowed through George. She wasn't really up to handling such an intense argument about matters that came close to home. Jo's mulish streak had worn down her strength right now. It felt to her that the more that she had tried to push Jo in one direction, she had only pushed back in the opposite direction even harder. Her panic fear for John's state of mind froze over that fluid capacity to reason. She gave up at that point.

Just then, a shaft of sunlight shone through her window of opportunity down onto the streets below. It all looked pretty washed out to her. 


	188. Chapter 188

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighty Eight

On the Wednesday afternoon, Jo picked up Karen's report of her overdose which Karen had e-mailed to her that morning, and got into her car to drive to St. Mary's hospital. Karen had explained on the phone to her why Ric wanted to see her, and Jo had been forced to agree with her. She might not like the idea of someone in Ric's position knowing about her stupid mistake, but she did trust him. He had after all treated George with the utmost skill and professionalism, and she didn't doubt that he would do the same with her. The hustle and bustle of the NHS hospital was far removed from the quiet, almost peaceful quality of the Haddlington where George had spent those few days for her surgery and for those interminable sessions of chemotherapy. But this was where Ric had asked to see her, because this was where he was holding his liver clinic. After pulling up in the car park, she clutched Karen's report to her and traversed the long and winding corridors and took a lift up to the fifth floor and Keller ward. 

She was greeted by a woman whose name badge said Sr. Lisa Fox. "If you'll take a seat over there," Lisa told her, gesturing to a row of chairs. "Mr. Griffin will be with you in a while. You are his last patient of the afternoon so he shouldn't be too long." Doing as she was bidden, Jo took a seat, half of her cringing away from the possibility that either Zubin or Tom might come across her here. As though her thoughts had conjured up his presence, she suddenly saw Tom and Connie Beauchamp come out of an office down the corridor, clearly in the middle of some argument and thankfully not taking a blind bit of notice of anyone around them. But she had reckoned without Tom's or Connie's ability to see anything out of the ordinary at a mere glance. Before Tom could open his mouth to speak to Jo, he thought better of it. She might not want him to know she was here, for whatever reason, so he should leave it up to her to speak to him if she wanted to do so. But just to satisfy his curiosity, he leaned over the desk, and infuriated Lisa by removing the appointment book to see what type of problem Jo Mills might be here for. "Tom," Lisa protested. "You could just ask to see the appointment book." "Ah, but then you wouldn't give it to me, would you," Tom replied with a playful smirk, glancing down at Ric's clinic list for the afternoon, and seeing that it was for liver complaints. "No, you're dead right I wouldn't," Lisa said, taking the book back and hiding it in the top drawer of the desk. "Well, did you find out what you wanted to know?" "I did, Lisa, thank you," Tom replied amiably, walking towards his office. A liver problem, well, that was hardly a surprise where Jo Mills was concerned, now was it. He could remember that day in the middle of Barbara Mills' trial. It had been his morning to take the stand, and he had come across Jo Mills standing outside the court, smoking and looking distinctly hung over. When he had tentatively asked her about it, she hadn't tried to hide it from him, but perhaps that was because she was aware of his own problem with alcohol. Well, perhaps he might just ask Ric about this later. 

"Mrs. Mills, would you like to come in?" The pleasant, well-remembered voice was a shock to Jo, as she had been submerged in her own thoughts until he had spoken to her. Picking up Karen's report, she walked to where Ric was standing in an open doorway. He could see immediately that she would rather be anywhere else than where she was at the present time. When he had closed the door behind her, he told her to sit in the chair in front of the desk. Taking the chair opposite to her, Ric wondered how to begin this very difficult conversation. "First of all," He told her gently but firmly. "I don't want you to blame Karen for my now being aware of what happened last Friday night." "I don't," Jo said in surprise, not having expected anything like this as an opening gambit in the slightest. "She needed to talk about what she'd done, to someone who would entirely understand the consequences had she not succeeded." "I do know just how difficult it was for her," Jo said quietly. "Something I will always regret." "And do you regret what you tried to do?" Ric asked her, now coming straight to the heart of the matter. Jo had to think about this, because she really wasn't sure. "I can't say that I'll never want to do it again," She said eventually. "But I don't think I am very likely to put any thoughts along those lines into practice, now that I know what is involved in dealing with it." "That is entirely the kind of answer I would expect from a lawyer," Ric replied with a slight smile. "Now, having obtained a copy of your blood results, you can be somewhat relieved that your kidneys are still functioning normally, but the results of your Liver Function Test do warrant further investigation." "Karen asked me to bring you this," Jo said, handing over the copy of Karen's report. "She said that you would need to know what drugs I had been given and in what quantities." Ric took the report, and spent a few minutes reading it through, marvelling at the lengths Karen had gone to, and the sheer risks she had taken. "That's fine," he said, eventually putting it down. "But what I need to do now, is to take a closer look at your liver. We can do this by an ultrasound scan. Do you have any objection to my registrar, Diane Lloyd, being present for this?" "None at all," Jo replied, only now taking notice of the ultrasound machine in the corner of the room beside an examination couch. Sticking his head out of the door, Ric called down the corridor to where he could see Diane standing at the nurses' station, and asked her to join him so that they could begin. 

When Diane appeared, Jo barely noticed how pretty she was. God, how could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so stupid as to possibly screw up her liver? If she had managed to do herself any damage in the process, John really would be furious with her, but then he was going to be angry enough already. Diane took in Jo's uneasiness, and strove to act in as professional a manner as possible. Ric briefly gave her the bare facts of the case, leaving out any names that might get Karen into trouble. Diane had a tendency to want to go official about things like this, something Karen could ill afford. "Please can you remove your blouse and bra?" Diane asked her. "And then lie down on the table." Once Jo had complied with this request, Diane informed her that she would now apply some contact gel to the skin in the area of Jo's liver, which would enable the transducer to give them a picture of what was going on inside. She asked Jo to turn on her left side, so that the picture would hopefully be clearer. Ric allowed Diane to get on with it, only occasionally providing a little guidance. "Jo," Diane eventually asked. "How long would you say that you've had a problem with alcohol?" "I've had the occasional, binge I think they call it these days, usually after a particularly harrowing trial." "You're a lawyer," Diane stated with a smile. "That ought to keep you on your toes, Ric," She added with a smirk in his direction. "Today isn't the first time I have met Mrs. Mills," Ric informed her. Then, turning to Jo, he asked, "Was it George's breast cancer that made everything a little harder to deal with?" "I think that was part of it," Jo admitted, feeling thoroughly stupid. "But it all started to go wrong before that, during the trial that your friend Professor Khan was involved in." "Was that the same one as Tom and Connie?" Diane asked, now really curious about this woman. "Yes," Jo told her with a slight smile. "It's fair to say that I found that trial far more stressful than I normally would." "Why?" Diane asked, not meaning to be intrusive but succeeding nevertheless. "I don't think you need to know that," Jo told her quietly. "So, are you going to tell me what you've found?" "Get dressed and then I'll show you," Ric told her, but then he changed his mind. "Actually, Diane, if you will do the honours, I'll try and chase up that last set of blood results." Knowing that this was Ric's way of telling her he needed to do something that he didn't want their patient to know about, she agreed. 

Once Ric had gone, Diane gestured for Jo to join her at the screen of the ultrasound machine. "You see there," She said, moving the picture of Jo's liver into clearer focus. "Where the surface of the liver is slightly puckered? That shows us that you do have the very beginnings of cirrhosis, but that we have hopefully caught it before there is any irreparable damage. What it really means for you though, is that under no circumstances must you ever drink alcohol again. I'm not just talking for a month, or a year, but for the rest of your life. It may seem a little trite of me to say that you have been extremely lucky, but you have. You may not feel that you want it, but you have been given a second chance, not something that ought to be wasted." "I do understand," Jo assured her. "But I think I saw an overdose as the only way to stop drinking." "That's not unusual," Diane told her, perching on the edge of the examination table whilst Jo sat in a chair. "I once knew someone with a gambling addiction," She said, talking about Ric though not revealing his name. "He'd always been a pretty reckless gambler, but when he realised that I'd terminated another man's child instead of actually having his, the gambling suddenly got worse. It was like watching a car crash happening in slow motion." "I think that's what it was like for John and George," Jo said without thinking. "Get Ric to explain that one to you," She added a little hurriedly. "The point is," Diane continued. "That he did eventually manage to kick the habit. Admittedly, after causing several people an enormous amount of pain, and just because he has managed to stop, doesn't mean that he doesn't occasionally go back to it. But you can stop drinking, if you have the right support and enough fight left in you to try." 

Walking hurriedly down the corridor, Ric knocked on the door of Tom's office. Being bade to come in, he opened the door and closed it behind him. "Ric, you don't normally come seeking my company, what can I do for you?" "I have Jo Mills in my consulting room, and I need your help." "Yes," Tom replied thoughtfully. "I had noticed that she was here." "Tom, she's here because she has a drink problem, and because a few days ago, she took an overdose." "Not Jo Mills. Are you serious?" "Very," Ric said with a heavy sigh. "I've given her an ultrasound and she does have the beginnings of cirrhosis, but I'm hoping that we've just about caught it in time." "And you want me to talk to her," Tom deduced. "If you would," Ric replied gratefully. "You are after all the resident expert on alcoholism." "Thank you very much for reminding me," Tom said drolly. "But yes, I'll talk to her, and I won't let her know that you've told me." 

When Jo finally left Ric's and Diane's clutches, she walked along the corridor feeling very much detached from her usual self. Today had been one of the weirdest days she'd had in a long time, and it wasn't even over yet. "Jo?" She turned at the voice calling her from a nearby office. Walking to the open door, she saw that it was Tom's. "Tom," She said, standing in the doorway and being wholly unable to think of anything to say. "I thought you might have a coffee with me before you went home," he said, telling her immediately that he had known of her appointment with Ric. "Yes, all right," She said a little hesitantly. Installing her in the visitors' chair in front of his desk, he left to make them both a coffee. When he returned, he put the mugs down on the desk and closed his office door. "So, how'd it go?" he asked, sitting back down behind his desk. "I have just been told that I have mild cirrhosis, but I suspect you knew that." "I certainly wondered why you were here," He said quietly, neither confirming nor denying her assertion. "Do you want to tell me why you have cirrhosis?" "Tom, you know why," Jo insisted vehemently. "It's because I drink too much, it's because I can't seem to find solace in anything else but scotch, and it's because I stupidly thought that killing myself was the only answer." Jo stopped, utterly stunned by her unexpected outburst. Bitter tears had risen to her eyes because she felt so stupid, so feckless. Getting up from behind his desk, Tom walked round to her, gently pulled her up from her chair, and put his arms around her. "I feel so stupid," She said, her tears now coming thick and fast. "I know," He told her gently. "I've been there too, Jo, and I know that it's complete and utter hell." "George was so angry with me," Jo continued, no longer caring that she was clinging to someone she had only previously known in a professional context. "Quite how someone can be angry and kind at the same time is beyond me." "It sounds as though you're lucky to have her," Tom said thoughtfully, gently rubbing her back to try and calm her down, though he did understand the need for the occasional outburst. As she stood there, cocooned in this man's embrace, and seeming to shed through her tears, at least a portion of the weight of guilt that had been pressing down on her for far too long. 


	189. Chapter 189

Part One Hundred and Eighty-Nine

Despite Jo's obstinacy, the moment that George had gone out of the door, Jo could feel her resolution to tell John of her mistake starting to wane. The enormity of the task in hand started to hit her and, in the forefront, were the stacked up images in her mind of how his mother had taken her own life. She hadn't really intended to do the same but, in the cold light of day, she had to admit that, but for George's instinct and Karen's nursing, she may well have not have come through the night. Her sense of logic could not dodge the inevitable comparisons and it scared her rigid. 

For the next four days, she slogged her way through her court cases, and sweated through the very real fear of wondering just what she would say to John and how she would react to it. Only on Thursday morning did the light start to dawn when she and George were both opening their lockers to pick up the gowns and wigs of their trade.  
"Do you want to cadge a lift from me from your flat and we'll go on and pick up John from the airport. We'll drive him to your flat and I'll disappear while you tell John the news." "That would be a marvellous idea, George." Jo responded enthusiastically to George's briskly organized plan. She very much needed that kind of helpful attitude even if she knew that George hadn't changed her opinion on her self-imposed errand. She turned round to face George who was half looking in her direction. "I could do with your presence ….I think that I would find it reassuring"  
"You surely don't think that, just because I don't exactly agree with your decision, I would turn my back on you and just let you struggle on by yourself"  
It was not the place to exchange warm affectionate hugs, as there was always a constant influx of other barristers into the locker room. A wide smile on Jo's face and a warm glow in Jo's eyes expressed all the thanks that she could possibly have given.

It was on Friday that John's passenger jet was due to settle down to earth after hours of being burnished by the fierce sun up in the Olympian heights and not a trace of a cloud to spoil the perfect map laid out below him. Jo and George by contrast crawled along the ground to the busy airport to wait patiently for John's arrival through customs. When they did pick him out from the multitudes ,it gave them both a pang to catch the first sight of a very sun tanned, relaxed looking John. He greeted them with an affectionate hug and a kiss each. It all looked very natural to the casual observers in the airport lounge as a distinguished looking man with graying hair led the way, accompanied by two very attractive blond haired women who were clearly fond of him. It even looked natural enough to George, as she smiled and chattered away to John. After loading his luggage into George's convertible, John was grateful to lay back in the front passenger seat, his hand trailing over the edge of the door and let the sun and the wind ruffle his hair. It all helped to smooth away the discomforts of the flight and make him feel that everything was being taken care of in his life. At last he could feel centred in his life after being away from home.

"It is marvellous to see you both again and such a treat for both of you to fetch me from the airport," John said at last when his luggage was finally loaded in the boot.  
"We both know how you are fearful of your pride and joy risking being scratched or dented by some careless boy racer of a driver," George responded with perfect aplomb. "You know they say about the relationship between a man and his car and exactly what part of the human body it symbolizes"  
God, how does George do it, Jo wondered, as she stayed rather monosyllabic in the background? She did not mind in the least being upstaged.  
"So where in the scheme of things does this very racy sporty car figure in the days of women's equality," Came John's silky smooth riposte. "The answer to that one is that my car doesn't. It just is"  
To emphasise her point, George revved up the engine, pirouetted it smartly to head for the exit and cut her way to the front of the shortest queue for the car park barrier. Jo sat back in the back while John and George carried on their verbal sparring match in the front. If it weren't for the darkness within Jo's soul and recent memories, this would be one of those lazy, scorching hot summer days meant for nothing in particular, as all three of them had some spare time on their hands for once.

"Oh, I see that we are going to Jo's flat," remarked John as they sped out onto the open road.  
"Oh yes, well we thought we'd pop in and drop all of your belongings at your flat a little while later." George answered rapidly with hardly a flicker.  
The drive carried on in this fashion. As Jo was in the back seat, she could get away with her silence. At the other end of the journey, John grabbed a light hold all in which he had placed the holiday souvenirs. He remembered afterwards that he had the full intention of showing Jo and George the fruits of his stay in Milan. 

Before he had a chance to present his exhibition, Jo coughed fairly prominently and two pairs of eyes were upon her. The three of them were suddenly frozen like statues in the middle of Jo's living room. George looked sideways at her and a look of guilt flashed across her face. A nasty feeling rose up in John's throat that he was about to hear something that was totally earth shattering. It had all been so sunny and friendly, only a few split seconds ago.  
"I'll just run your cases over to your flat, John. I think Jo has something to say to you." "John," Jo started to say in very hesitant tones, "There is something you have to know, something that happened while you were away." George slipped out of the front door while a very nervous, white faced Jo stood in front of him and hesitated a second before she began to speak. Jo must have fallen in love with someone else, his shrill nerves screamed at him.  
"I did something very stupid while I was away. I've been feeling very depressed recently and I've having some problems in getting to sleep….". This doesn't make sense, John told himself. This conversation had veered onto a completely unexpected path.  
"………..so I went to my GP who prescribed me some sleeping tablets to settle me to sleep so I can be reasonably fresh in the morning for work. I made a stupid mistake and didn't check the instructions properly. The long and short of it all is," continued Jo, clapping her hands together,"was that I had a few drinks in the evening and dozed off on the sofa. The next I knew was that I vaguely heard Karen's voice in my dreams and that she was shining a light into my eyes…" "………I don't understand. I don't believe it……" John started to say in an agitated tone of voice, shaking his head and starting to pace around. "John, I'm really sorry to tell you that it did happen. I couldn't in all conscience carry on and pretend that it never happened"  
"I must be hearing things. No no, this can't be true." "I would want more than anything in the world to say that it didn't happen but I have to tell you that it did," Jo answered almost in a frozen whisper. "So when did this all happen"  
"Last Friday," mumbled Jo.  
"You mean the day after I went to Milan. So what happened next?" a disembodied voice that sounded like his own was heard to say. Even in a crisis like this, that instinct to investigate the truth operated blindly, without any ulterior purpose.  
"George came over and fetched Karen and Yvonne with her"  
"To do what"  
"To give me urgent medical attention"  
"Karen? On her own? I grant you that she may have been a capable nurse but even I know very well that she was out of her depth"  
"She was on the phone to the SMO at Larkhall Prison to advise her"  
The words sounded impossibly lame in Jo's ears so God knows what it sounded to John. She dared not think of this. "This was most foolish and reckless of her. Surely the three of you, some of the most intelligent women that I have ever known couldn't possibly have acted in this way. Why didn't Karen just dial 999 and go with you to hospital, like any sensible person would have done?" exploded John. His anger had to be discharged at Karen since he felt strangled up inside by his undying love for Jo and the pain that she had put them both through. There was nothing in the English language that could have remotely done justice to the feelings that rose up inside him and threatened to engulf him. "Because once the official due process runs its course with hospitals and psychiatrists, then my career is blighted with what's on my record"  
"Your career? What about your life?" John burst out. "Surely that matters more than anything else in this world. Do you also know what this means to me personally? You know what happened to my mother and why the word 'suicide' has always, always sounded so ugly in my ear, like the ultimate obscenity. It's about who's left behind. It's not fair on them"  
Ordinarily, the words and the delivery would have come over as adult aggression. Even while Jo was traumatized to the spot, she had that curious feeling that the John Deed who had shrank into the sofa wasn't the same suave languid man of the world that she had always known but someone different.  
"John, I'm really sorry…for you, for everyone whom I've caused any pain to. I must have been selfish and not thinking straight." Jo confessed, her voice choked with emotion. "You must forgive me for being somewhat emotional about the matter," John suddenly said in curiously calm tones. He lay back on the sofa, looking dishevelled in precisely the same place as Jo had been only a week ago. "It must have taken a certain amount of courage to tell me this. At least you are well and alive right now…….There are a few matters I want to get clear in my head and , as by all accounts, you were only half conscious with all the activity going on around you, I need to talk to whoever was in charge and bears responsibility for the very dangerous position you were placed in. I'm taking a taxi to Karen's and, by God, she had better have some proper answers"  
It was the sudden erupting violence of John's anger directed at Karen that undid all the good work of his generosity that John had belatedly trying to do. Jo stood helplessly watching on as John flew out of the door. 


	190. Chapter 190

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Ninety

As the taxi drove John towards Karen's flat, he found himself having to restrain the urge to tell the driver to put his foot down. But when they arrived and John had paid him, he stood in the street, trying to battle his anger into something a little more controlled, but this wasn't to be. Karen was the one who had ultimately taken such a risk with his precious Jo's life, and she would have to provide him with some very good explanations if she didn't want his anger to burst over her in a tidal wave that might rock her off her feet. 

Karen wasn't in the least surprised to see John on her doorstep. She had known that he was due back from Milan today, and she also knew that either Jo or George would have told him about what had happened the week before. "Come in," She said, taking note of the pulse that was rapidly beating at his temples. "Before you have a coronary on my doorstep." "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you," He found himself saying. "People being in life threatening positions and asking for your help." "Seeing as I worked as a nurse for about eight years, yes, I would," she countered back, knowing that he needed to get this out of his system, but also unwilling to go down without a fight. "That isn't what I'm talking about and you know it," John replied angrily, barely taking notice of Yvonne's presence at one end of the sofa. "Have you got something constructive to say, or have you just come here to shout at me?" Karen demanded, feeling in the mood for giving him the fight he was quite obviously looking for. 

"How could you?" He continued furiously. "How could you take such a dangerous risk with someone I love?" "Oh, so it would have been perfectly okay to do that with someone you didn't love?" Quipped back Karen, her very unwise responses slipping out before they could be curtailed. "Don't be flippant!" He all but roared at her. "So what was I supposed to do," Karen demanded, returning to the seriousness of the situation. "Just stay away and let her die? She might not have admitted it to you, John, but she meant to do it. I had to help her, I had to do anything I possibly could to save her life. Is that so difficult to understand?" "Yes," he persisted scornfully. "The correct course of action would have been to get her to a hospital as quickly as possible, not to mess around playing Florence Nightingale with a first class degree in cover ups. So, are you going to tell me why? And I'm not asking for any more chivalrous patter about saving someone's life." In the resulting silence, that seemed to throb with all the unresolved feelings that were circulating the room, Karen sat down on the other end of the sofa to Yvonne and lit a cigarette. "When George phoned me," she began. "I told her that she had to get Jo to the nearest hospital. But George refused, using the fact that a section wouldn't exactly do a lot for Jo's career as a reason for not going down the official route. I had Thomas Waugh with me at the time, and much to my astonishment, he agreed with her." "Then he should be struck off," John put in venomously, pacing the length of the room as he listened. "Don't be ridiculous," Karen told him scornfully. "If it wasn't for Thomas giving me the necessary drugs and implements from Larkhall's hospital wing, Jo would in all likelihood be dead now." John flinched as she said this, but Karen had to give him the full, unvarnished truth. "Did it never occur to you," he asked, trying to put his fury back on its leash. "That Jo's career doesn't bear any importance whatsoever when compared to her life?" "John, I fully appreciate that that's how you see it, and to a major extent I agree with you. But I know only too well how important a career is when the rest of your life is not going to plan. It's the one thing you cling to, because it's the one area of your life that tends to remain on something of an even keel. I did what I did last Friday because it was purely instinctive to do what I could to save Jo's life. Yes, it was difficult, and yes it was probably the stupidest thing I've ever done, but it worked, and she is alive." "But you still shouldn't have taken that risk," He insisted, now unable to stop the thoughts from going round and round in his head, some of them making it out of his mouth. "Jo is the most precious thing in my life. She is what makes my life worth living. If I ever lost her, I wouldn't be able to survive." 

"Don't you think Karen knows that?" Yvonne suddenly put in, bringing both their eyes on her. "Yvonne, I would rather you kept out of this," John replied, a little quieter than his previous outburst. "Don't talk bollocks," Yvonne told him succinctly. "I was there, remember, along with Karen and George because they needed my help." "So I've you to thank for this utter debacle as well?" "You self-righteous bastard," Yvonne replied scornfully. "Karen did everything she possibly could last Friday night, purely and simply because she does know how much you love Jo." "Leave it, Yvonne," Karen said quietly, all the fight seeming to have gone out of her. "No way," Yvonne said the flash of determination dancing in her eyes. "It's about time he knew just what lengths you went to." Then, turning back to John, she said, "Karen did the job of three possibly four people in trying to save Jo's life, something she would never have been expected to do in a professional setting. Karen pushed her skills and knowledge to the limit last Friday night, trying her damnedest to save the life of a friend. No matter how shit scared Karen was last Friday, she didn't reveal it to any of us. Not once did Karen admit to just how terrified she was, because she knew it wouldn't do any good. You can't blame Karen for this, John, and you certainly can't blame either George or me. Jo took that overdose, not me, not Karen, not George, but Jo. I suspect that she's fed you a line about how she accidentally took too many sleeping pills, but there was nothing accidental about what she did." "Yvonne!" Karen protested, not wanting John to be force-fed something that he currently didn't want to hear. "He has to accept it, you know that," Yvonne told her firmly. "And it's about time that you started appreciating what a friend like Karen will do for you in a crisis," She told John smartly. "Karen didn't have to do that for Jo, she could have passed the responsibility onto someone else, but she didn't, and it's about bloody time you acknowledged that." 


	191. Chapter 191

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Ninety One

When John left Karen's flat, neither admitting nor denying Yvonne's last assertion, he thought that he may as well walk back to his own flat, it not being all that far away from Karen's. His thoughts were in turmoil as he walked, ranging from anger, to despair, and even ending up on guilt. He should have been there last week, he should have been there to either stop Jo from doing that in the first place, or to do the right thing and take Jo to hospital. Why on earth had Karen acted quite so stupidly? She used to be a nurse, for god's sake, so she knew that Jo should have been in hospital. Then his thoughts centred in on Yvonne. How dare she call him a self-righteous bastard, when all he had been trying to do was to gain some answers to some clearly difficult questions. Then there was George. Karen had said that George had been the one, along with Thomas Waugh, who had insisted that Jo not be taken anywhere near a hospital. This had to be wrong, surely it did. Why would George do such a thing? He obviously wanted some answers from her too, like why hadn't she told him about this earlier, but he didn't think that tonight was the right time to be doing that. He was already considerably overwrought by the evening's revelations, and all he wanted to do was to get back to his safe, familiar flat, and sink a large portion of Scotch. 

This was precisely what he did. When he arrived home, he opened all the windows to let in some air, selected Fauré's 'Requiem' which he slotted into the CD-player, and collected a bottle of single malt and a glass. As the soft, subtle tones of the mass for the dead began to envelop him, he drank the liquid that usually made fire course throughout his veins, but which now left him feeling partly numb, and partly extremely saddened by what Jo had done. What could possibly have made her want to end her own life? She was beautiful, intelligent, everything he desired in a woman. She had two happy, healthy children, even if they were now grown up and leading their own lives. She had him, and she had George, everything she could possibly want with regards to sexual partners, yet she still wanted to leave them all, in order to afford herself some much needed peace. He knew that she had been drinking too much, but what could he honestly do about that if she wouldn't be truthful to herself, never mind him or George? But maybe that was the point, maybe she had finally faced up to the fact that she had a problem, and saw killing herself as the only way to nip it in the bud. As for George, she really ought to have contacted him in Milan to tell him about this, but yet again, she had kept quiet over something spectacularly serious. Why did she always do this to him? Whether it concerned either herself or someone else, she always found a reason to keep things from him, things that by rights he ought to be told. Look at what had happened over her breast cancer. She had kept it from him and talked Jo into doing the same until a designated time for telling him. 

As though his thoughts had conjured her up, the phone rang, and when he answered it, it was George. "This is a surprise," He said somewhat bitterly. "I thought you'd be avoiding me like the plague." "That's hardly fair, John," She replied a little caustically. "I rang to make sure you were all right." "No doubt hoping that you won't have to do a rescuing act on me too." "Do you want to talk to me or don't you?" She demanded, matching his obvious anger with a touch of her own. "No, not right at this moment, I don't," He told her without any hesitation whatsoever. But George wasn't going to give up so easily. After a few moments of silence between them, she asked, "What on earth are you listening to?" "Fauré's Requiem," He told her. "It seemed rather relevant to the thoughts that are currently fighting to be acknowledged." "And you really think that's a sensible course of action, do you?" "You can hardly talk about sensible courses of action," John said scornfully, his anger not far below the surface. "John, I'm coming over," She told him. "Because I don't think that this conversation ought to be had on the phone." "I would really rather you didn't," He replied, currently wanting no company but his own. "Tough," She replied before slamming the phone down and looking for her car keys. 

John wasn't best pleased at the thought of seeing George tonight, but refilling his glass, he tried to ignore the fact, deciding to deal with her if and when she arrived. As he took another sip of his whisky, the requiem reached the Sanctus, the prayer for the loved one to rest in peace. It brought tears to his eyes to think that this was what Jo had been seeking when she consumed such a lethal combination of sedatives. She had been looking for peace, both for herself and for those who would have been left behind. She thought that ending her life was the only answer, because she badly didn't want to end up like her father. He knew that was what was behind her actions of last Friday, even if she hadn't said so. In fact, it was probably because she hadn't said this that he could believe it to be the real reason behind her wish to die. 

When George arrived, she let herself in with the key John had given her some time ago. She did this very quietly, wanting an opportunity to observe him before he became aware of her, so that she could best know how to approach the situation and the very difficult conversation they were about to have. He was sitting at one end of the sofa, bathed in the subtle glow of a table lamp, with a glass in one hand and tears running down his cheeks. Her heart went out to him as she saw this, coupled with the sad and gentle music coming from the stereo. John only became aware of her presence, when she sat down beside him and put her arms around him. His arms went automatically round her, because although he had said he didn't want her, he really did need her, to soothe away everything he was currently feeling. "Where did you spring from?" He eventually asked. "Didn't you believe I'd come?" She countered back. "I'm not so sure that you should have done," he replied regretfully. "Darling, I wasn't going to leave you to stew about this on your own, and that," She said, reaching for the remote control to the stereo and switching it off. "Is hardly going to do you any good." "Funny," He said, clearly trying to goad her. "I thought that a mass for the dead was more than a little appropriate." "Highly inappropriate more like," George replied scornfully. "Oh, so you're going to tell me that it was all a dream, are you, Jo thinking it was a good idea to kill herself?" "No, of course I'm not," George retorted disgustedly. "Thought it was a good idea not to involve a hospital and a fully qualified medical team though, didn't you," he threw back at her. "Really good thinking that was, George." 

Getting up from the sofa, George went into the kitchen and made him a mug of very strong coffee. Returning and putting it down on the coffee table before him, she said, "I refuse to take anything you say remotely seriously whilst you are as drunk as this, so get that coffee inside you and then we might be able to have a civil conversation." "I'm not drunk," He protested. "Oh, so that's plain water in that glass, is it?" "One can drink alcohol without the need to become inebriated, you know, George." "Yes, well, at the moment, Jo doesn't appear to agree with you." There was a stunned, awful silence hanging between them, before John reached forward, picking up the mug of steaming coffee. "This looks like tar," He said before taking a tentative sip. "And it probably tastes like tar," She replied. "But you're still going to drink it." After taking a swig and grimacing, he asked, "So, are you going to tell me why you insisted on the utter farce that took place last Friday?" "John," George replied carefully. "The one thing that is stable in Jo's life right now is her career. If she lost that, then I doubt she would fail next time. Keeping that area of stability is extremely important, if she is to make the slightest attempt at a recovery." "Karen said something to that effect." "So you've talked to Karen?" "I went to see her," John replied, putting the coffee mug down on the table. "And?" George asked, slightly fearing what was coming. "I shouted at her, and because Yvonne was there, I shouted at her too." "John, if it wasn't for Karen possessing the skills necessary to do what she did, Jo would probably be dead now." "That still doesn't make it right," John persisted stubbornly. "Look," She said, taking one of his hands in hers and gently holding it between her own. "If I were in your position, I would probably be furious with me too, as well as Karen and Yvonne, so I do understand why you feel the way you do. But shouting at people, including one of your closest friends, isn't going to achieve anything. You and me, and Jo, owe Karen the biggest debt a person can have. You shouldn't blame Karen, just because she did what I asked of her, rather than what she initially told me to do." In the resulting silence, John took in what she'd said, trying to make sense of it and wanting to be able to believe that she was right. He inwardly knew that he owed Karen a bigger debt than he could ever hope to repay, but did that honestly mean that she was right and he was wrong? 


	192. Chapter 192

Part One Hundred and Ninety-Two 

The following weekend saw John alone in his flat and because he was in the unusual position of having quite a bit of time on his hands, it provided time for introspection. In the moment of calm, he heard Helen's voice tell him that if there was ever a need to make an appointment for a therapy session, that he should phone her for an appointment.  
John judiciously appraised the situation and came to the considered conclusion that he should arrange a therapy session with Helen. After all, had he not gone through the trauma of an imagined suicide in his life of someone who was most precious to him precisely because it had nearly happened? That childhood trauma was not so easily soothed that everything was now all right. The distrust engendered by that shattering event so early in his life would not be so easily quietened. He remembered how he had gone on to vent his anger on both Karen and George, and he was starting to have severe misgivings about it. It was all the more disturbingly ironical that considering what had happened to Jo that he himself had got seriously drunk. When he threaded all the relevant facts together, it told him that his life had swung off balance and that booking a therapy session was the answer.  
"Hi, judge. It's nice to hear from you." John was immediately heartened by the instinctive warmth in Helen's voice. It made him feel good about himself.  
"You're probably wondering why I've phoned." Came his enigmatic reply as he edged into the matter in hand.  
"Is it social or business"  
"Strictly business. I was wondering if I could arrange a therapy session with you at fairly short notice, if that is convenient for you"  
"You're sure that you want to take your chances with me, judge, after what's happened in the past"  
"Quite sure"  
Despite his deliberately restrained tone of voice, Helen sensed the urgency in his tone of voice. As it happened, he was in luck.  
"I know that you're a busy man, judge but a vacancy has just cropped up at 10.30am tomorrow. Will that suit you"  
"As it so happens, I haven't very much work to do that day. I go back to the grindstone the day after on a major trial. No peace for the wicked as they say"  
Helen smiled understandingly at John's posture. What mattered more was what he would say tomorrow.

"Well, judge, you've been used to me asking the questions, of setting the agenda. This time, because you've come to see me of your own accord, you have the privilege of talking to me about what's prompted you to make this appointment"  
Helen's opening remarks temporarily disorientated John, as this was exactly what he had not been used to.  
"Ah, well, it is a bit of a long story. Quite a bit has happened since I saw you last"  
"Begin at the beginning, judge"  
"Two weeks ago, I went to a Human Rights seminar at Milan, safely leaving George and Jo behind or so I thought. My behaviour was exemplary while I was away in staying to the straight and narrow except, of course, ruffling a few political feathers that deserved to be so treated"  
Helen smiled at both John's understated description and in genuine pleasure that he had at last achieved some balance in his life. It surprised himself momentarily how quickly he could snap into action and simply relay the facts. He had learnt this much from his time as a patient. "I foolishly imagined that everything was fine while I was away. What I did not know was that the evening after I went, Jo took an overdose of alcohol and sleeping tablets.  
"My god, that's terrible for you all. What happened, I mean……." Helen immediate sat up rigid in her seat, concern and shock spreading over her features. She could not get over the fact that it was that force for legal advocacy that could move mountains had been reduced to such a state of desperation, like……like Monica Lindsay so many years ago. That incident was forever etched in her mind.  
"I have to say that fortunately, she's survived unharmed. It was what saved her that I have problems with"  
"Can you backtrack a bit? While all this went on, you knew nothing about it while you were away"  
"Absolutely nothing until Jo and George picked me up at the airport and Jo told me while George dropped my cases off at the flat"  
"So how did it happen that her life came to be saved"  
"Some instinct of George made her go round and find her half conscious. She phoned Karen who came over with Yvonne and an improvised medical kit and a hot line to the SMO at Larkhall"  
"……..who is Dr Thomas Waugh." Breathed Helen, her eyes wide open while a camera in her mind started to replay the video in her head of what had happened.  
"I know Dr Waugh personally from way back and also via Nikki who works closely with him. While he is a stickler for procedure, he is prepared to consider radical solutions if he honestly believes that they are justifiable"  
The confident tone in Helen's voice and her clear description of the man made a definite impact on John, who stowed it away as material to possibly reconsider his position. "Whatever they did seems to have worked even though one might say that Karen was being recklessly foolhardy in risking Jo's life not to say her own professional position in not getting the proper authorities involved at the outset"  
Helen smiled at John's convoluted delivery of words. This was no rococo form of verbal structure, but John's own way of flying a kite, of stating the facts without committing himself to expressing his own feelings upon the matter. There was one matter she needed to investigate first before pursuing John's feelings about the matter.  
"Just one thing, when did all this happen"  
"Friday, June 16th, the day after I flew to Milan and I came back on June 23rd, the same day when Jo told me what had happened." John said crisply. His profession made the chronology of events easier for him to relate to Helen.  
"I'm only asking you that question because Nikki and I had a party on June 18th to celebrate Nikki's first year in her job and Karen and Yvonne came round. They were very quiet and subdued that night. They looked as if they only half belonged there. Now I know why…….."

Helen's eyes grew large and introspective while she weaved in her own memories of the party before switching back to the present in questioning mode.  
"………suppose you tell me how you came to find out what had happened while you were away, John"  
"Well, first I talked to Jo. She told me that she made a stupid mistake mixing alcohol with sleeping tablets and by some miracle George happened to come round"  
"Hang on a minute, judge, aren't you rather glossing over the facts? For a start, how long had Jo been taking sleeping tablets"  
"I assume that she had only recently obtained a prescription as she had problems in settling off to sleep and this was her first prescription"  
"So how would you describe Jo's approach to alcohol"  
"At times, not good," John admitted ruefully, opting for direct honesty rather than defending Jo's reputation. He paused a moment while he launched into a more precise description. "In normal times, she is the same as you or I. There are periods when if she is under stress, she binge drinks." "And what events in particular can you recall where you have evidence of a particular problem with Jo's drinking"  
"Two incidents come to mind, Helen. One was when she was hung over early on in Barbara Mills' trial so that George had to take over the cross examination. It all came too close to home as Jo once had to nurse her husband who was dying of cancer and"  
"……there but for the grace of God goes Jo Mills"  
"Precisely so"  
"And the other occasion"  
John immediately rattled off a concise explanation of the Jason Powell trial and a vivid description of how Jo had knocked back glass after glass of whisky. "How long have you been worried about Jo's drinking"  
"Seriously worried?" temporised John to which Helen nodded definitely, and fixed a determined gaze on John.  
"For the past month now I come to think of it when my concerns gained definite shape and substance"  
"So what makes you think that Jo made a mistake with the sleeping tablets? After all, she's an intelligent woman and is very likely to know about the dangers of mixing alcohol with sleeping tablets, which, in any case, are clearly set out in the instructions. When you put together a pattern of, on average, heavy drinking over a number of years, then wouldn't you think to be rather sceptical of her account as a mistake as to what caused the overdose"  
"Aah." John said and then stopped dead. He might have known that Helen was lulling him into a false sense of security by getting him to talk impersonally about someone else's problems and then, verbally speaking, shine the inquisitor's naked light bulb into his eyes. "I er, I suppose that I took Jo's word for it. I didn't blame her for what happened. I couldn't blame her"  
"From what you have told me, you had a tremendous shock to the system from what nearly happened to Jo compared with what did happen to your mother. It's not irrational to react in this way. I've seen so many times how shock and anger often go hand in hand. So did you look for someone to blame and if so, who?" "I have to admit that I have behaved very badly to Karen and Yvonne," John admitted very slowly after a long pause. His misgivings had taken on solid form, after Helen had exercised her considerable skills in steering him into a corner from which there was no escape.  
"Coming back to what we were talking about earlier on, did you think that Karen was being recklessly foolish in risking Jo's life in not getting the proper authorities involved at the outset"  
"I certainly did at the time and I went round to see Karen to give her a piece of my mind. I did, I can tell you." John burst out with a touch of defiance in his tone, rattled by receiving the succession of precisely phrased questions that were lobbed down at him. After all, it was his role in life to ask the questions. "John, you were dealing with Karen and Yvonne, the two women who I now know why they were subdued at a party two days afterwards. You and I know them well enough to have good reason why they act and who were backed up by the permission of Dr Waugh whose reputation I also know. Suppose you fill me in on the details"  
"I was angry that Karen had taken it upon herself to deal with a dangerous situation without going through the proper channels. Karen surprised me by saying that she had told George to do just that but that George had refused because a section wouldn't help Jo's career. She said that if Jo had lost her career, she would have lost the one thing that would have given her stability. She admitted that what she did was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done, but it worked, and Jo is alive"  
"So how did Yvonne enter the picture"  
"I didn't accept what Karen had said and so Yvonne gave me chapter and verse as to what Karen had done………I seem to remember that Yvonne actually called me a 'self righteous bastard.' Do you know, Helen, that in all my rows with authority, no one has ever called me that"  
To his discomfort, Helen burst into loud laughter and didn't stop for quite a few minutes.  
"You don't say that your royal highness has never been called that in your life? It must be the strict rules of the Playing Fields of Eton that you can't call a spade a spade, much less a bloody shovel"  
"Come on, Helen, be serious"  
"But I am being serious,' she retorted with great aplomb. "You must accept that sometimes you have acted like a bastard in your private life. You should know Yvonne well enough by now that there is a ruthlessly honest quality about her. Some might be offended by her manner but from my experience, that applies only to those who can't tell the truth to themselves, much less to others, to basically selfish, evil people"  
John's eyes looked at the floor while he remained silent. Helen could sense that he was turning everything over in his mind. Both of them knew that Helen was talking about Fenner most of all. 

"Haven't you ever gone out on a limb for something or someone you have believed. Haven't you found that that risk is worth it for the justice that you have brought about? Aren't you Mr. Danger Man personified?" For the first time since he had entered the room, John faintly smiled. He had to admit that Helen's description of him was very droll and very respectful.  
"So don't you think that what Karen did in the medical field matches up very closely with what you have done in the legal field? The motivations seem very similar to me." Helen pursued softly, infused by that note of unshakeable admiration in her voice no matter what she knew of him.  
"When you put it this way, I cannot disagree with you. Yes, yes, I accept it and I have spoken out of turn"  
"So are you going to do something to remedy the situation, to put it right. Karen has the right of appeal to your better judgment and you of all people must grant it"  
John nodded. He was unable to speak as the shame of his harsh words made it impossible to speak.  
"The point is that, unlike the situation of your mother, there is nothing is irrevocable, there is nothing that cannot be put right in Jo's case, both with Jo and everyone affected What you must do is to apologise to Karen. You will feel the better for it, believe me." "I promise"  
"Do you know, if you had come to me with a similar situation nine months ago, you would have ducked and dived and wouldn't have told me a quarter of what you've told me today. You are a smart learner. There is so much hope for your future"  
"Does hope mean that much to you, Helen"  
A shadow passed over Helen's eyes. She had remembered the dreadful times when she had first worked at Larkhall as Wing Governor and remembered the times when she felt that hope had abandoned her. She knew very well what hope meant to her.  
"Yeah, it does, judge. That's why both of us are in our professions, to give hope." 


	193. Chapter 193

Part One Hundred and Ninety-Three 

For the next week, Tom couldn't get that totally unexpected confession from Jo Mills out of his mind. His memory took him back to that meeting nine months ago when he and Zubin first met her and George and he was impressed by their very feminine and incisive intelligence that was to firmly dominate the progress of the trial. Was it only a matter of months ago at the trial itself that he remembered a rather pale and washed out Jo Mills, recovering from a hangover and that he had casually mentioned diet coke as a hangover cure? He didn't think too much of it as many people suffer from hangovers from time to time. She had gone on to conduct a thoroughly professional double act with George when he had taken the stand and had then had his own history of alcoholism put under the spotlight. He had defended himself with some spirit and had received an unexpected measure of sympathy and understanding from the judge. Because of the pressures of a busy professional life, he had let those thoughts disappear into the ether or so he had thought. The conversation of the past week had brought everything back into sharp focus.

He debated with himself as to whether or not to make contact with Jo. Certainly, there was a neediness about her that touched him deeply, as if there was such a mountain of words that she needed to get out from inside her, that she couldn't put into speech. Well, he thought smilingly to himself, he had his share of personal charm, but that wasn't really important to the situation. What mattered most was that he had been incredibly fortunate to have walked that tightrope wire and had come back from the edge. He had received so much help from others, from Ed who had covered up his lapses, from Ric who had pushed him towards the course of action to save himself, something that he had shrunk away from for the so called best of reasons. The reasons were always extremely plausible from the outside in his specific line of addiction. Finally, Anita had been his psychiatrist and sometimes lover who had finally put him back on his feet again. He had taken so much from so many people and his drinking had caused hurt to so many people.

The penny dropped with him that he had to phone Jo. The choice was obvious.

With a slightly shaking hand, he reached for the phone one evening and dialled the required numbers. He held his breath in as he waited for the ring tones to give him the answer to that choice that he had made. 

"I'm not sure if I'm phoning at a good time or not but I thought I'd phone you anyway," came Tom's slightly stumbling opening introduction.  
"Why Tom. It's good to hear from you. You did the right thing"  
Jo's warm tones gave Tom an immediate ego boost that made him feel good about himself. He had made this choice and the gamble had paid off. "I wanted to phone you up as I was a bit worried about you when I saw you at the hospital"  
"You were the right man at the right place and at the right time, Tom. I don't know about you but the experience of having a drinking problem is horribly isolating. You have the feeling that you have all those who are nearest to you but they can't really help you at the end of the day. They mean well but……"

"There's always that distance between you and them. Alcohol makes the situation that way"  
Jo nodded her head fervently as Tom's wise words even though he couldn't see her gesture. It didn't matter right now. "Do you know, you're the only person I've told as to why I took an overdose of sleeping tablets? I've been kidding everyone else, myself included that I made a 'stupid mistake.' I've done a really brilliant job in covering up the shame and disgust that I've felt for myself. I couldn't admit it to anyone that I actually thought that ending my life would give me some kind of peace"  
"There have been moments when I have felt that way, Jo. It's just that I could never steel myself to do anything like that. I've read too many medical books and it's very off-putting clinically speaking"  
Jo laughed slightly at Tom's dry humour and plunged on with baring her feelings. It felt safe to do so.  
" I just kept up a pretence for years about it until there came the odd occasions when I couldn't pretend any longer. It didn't really matter as lots of people get periodically drunk. I could hide behind it and no one would really think twice……except John and George. I love them to bits but I don't want to hurt them"  
"Does it help that they are close to you"  
Jo didn't answer that. She knew that she loved them both and that they loved her. She couldn't work out in her mind where this added dimension of her was going to fit in. After all, family life had revolved around her father's troubles and she was worried about inflicting it on someone else.

"It's no good either of us beating yourself up for the mistakes that we have made in our pasts," Tom concluded." That will only dig ourselves deeper in the hole that we have made. You have to start to learn to take one day at a time"  
"I know that from accompanying my father down to AA meetings. He was a recovering alcoholic, you know"  
"Ah yes, Jo but is that something you're aware from the outside instead of breathing it, living it and feeling it?" countered Tom.  
"Well, I suppose not…….at the end of the day, it was happening to someone else," mused Jo. The formula for coping seemed very real at the time but perhaps she had never given it enough thought. She was beginning to suspect that she would have to be reenrolled in the School of life and start from the beginning again. At least there was a classmate to hand if she chose to let him 


	194. Chapter 194

A/N: Credits to Kristine for her macaroni cheese recipe

Part One Hundred and Ninety Four

John paced round and round in his flat, summoning up the strength to say the words 'I apologise.' At each turn, the mouth opened but the words failed to materialize. He felt as uncomfortable as ever he had in his life, back to when he first went away to Oxford and the trace of the rounded Birmingham accent of his youth ran up against the languid public school accent of his peers. The one compromise he had ever made in his life was to spend hours in the quiet of the evening mimicking these accents and assuming their unhurried mannerisms. The class that he had aspired to join did not run round in circles like headless chickens but maintained that unassuming unruffled sense of assurance of a class that was born to command. Of course, from that early surrender to his environment, he had carved out his own personal space as a maverick, yet within the exclusive club of the brethren. He had never felt the need after that to apologise for anything after that, and his pride held him to that sense of resolution in his career.

Yet here his life came round in a full circle and this time, it wasn't the unspoken assumptions of his fellow students but the determined voice and clear sharp eyes of that very remarkable woman, Helen Wade who had manoeuvred him into this situation. After all, wasn't it perhaps better to concede to a well-argued line of reasoning in an arena where the power of his position held no sway? It was surely more preferable than the mere desire for social camouflage without which he could not have risen to his present position? The one was moral and the other functional at best. "Go on, judge," John could hear that Scottish brogue and that faint challenging smile.  
"All right, Helen, I mean, Karen. I'm truly sorry for barging in and taking my fears for Jo out on you. You didn't deserve it. I've had time to think about it and I understand why you acted as you did. It was definitely for the best. I was wrong and you were right"  
"Excellent, judge." He could hear Helen's slightly amused but genuinely warm-hearted praise. He needed all the praise that he could get and ,at one time received it when he had been a little boy. Was it from his mother that he had received it? Some ancient suggestion of a memory told him that it must have been so.

Two more circles round his flat as the resolution percolated through the surface layer of an intellectual proposition. Finally it sank deeper into that determined will to act, no matter how uncomfortable it might make him feel. As he sank into a cosy armchair and reached for a glass of spirits, he realised that his legs felt tired. It had been a blazing hot day today and the stress of finally arriving at this resolution had taken it out of him.

It was Friday June 30th 2006 and the full heat of summer glared down onto the street as John turned his car away from his chambers and in the direction of Larkhall Prison. At one time, he would have had to check his copy of the London A - Z map for directions but, over the past few years, his memory took him through the familiar back streets to the castle-like walls of the building. Grey grim as they looked in the depths of winter, even they were bleached and coloured by the brilliant blue sun into being halfway inviting, at least if you ignored the reality that lay behind them.

It was only when John had gone to sign in with Ken that he realised that he had assumed that Karen would be there to receive him. She might easily be working at home or at some conference as far as he was aware. "I've come to see Karen Betts. At least I assume she is available today." John ventured in a diffident fashion. Ken raised his eyebrows at the debonair, smartly dressed man with that air of command common to all those in high authority. The judge had always been different from the rest of them in the way that he didn't treat him as part of the furniture and in that sense of humanity. This was the first time he had ever appeared to him as shy and he couldn't understand it. He had no reason to be from what he had heard of the judge, both famous and merciful. "You're in luck," Ken smiled broadly back at him as he put the phone down. "Nikki will come and show you the way, not that you need it, but rules is rules"  
That commonplace proverb set the seal. He was very powerful in his own orbit and made the rules, the complexities of case law but gladly surrendered himself to others' demands, whether personal or institutional. There were occasions when he needed to tilt his lance at oppressive over mighty institutional power like some latter day Don Quixote but not today.

Nikki's face brightened as John came into view. "It's really nice to see you, judge. Helen and I were thinking of you when I had a little party to celebrate my first year in office a few weeks ago"  
"I would have liked to come, Nikki, but matters in my life were somewhat unstable nearer home. Things are getting clearer now," he added hastily. Nikki's smile was as warm as if it had been exposed to a lifetime of English summers. It exposed her feelings unashamedly for all to see and bestowed her blessings on him. No wonder Helen saw so much in her to love her, he thought in a detached observational way that was not possessive. If he chose to be open, he would receive the blessings of her essential goodness.  
"I'm really glad to hear it, judge. I'll take you up to see Karen." Nikki started to say in her best formal tones until she took a closer glance at John's rather edgy manner and her basic instinct to help the distressed bade her enquire in solicitous tones.  
"If you don't mind me saying, you've got the manner of going to the doctor to take some unpleasant medicine." "Something like that." John started to say, dryly. It struck him in that instance that this was his suave, well-armoured brush off and that Nikki deserved better than this.  
"Do you get to hear of everything that is going on?" he added.  
Nikki took one look at John's genuine bemusement and opted for directness.  
"Nearly everything. You should know the Old Girls Network by now, judge. You aren't as inscrutable as you like to think you are." John smiled wryly at her laughing eyes. He decided that there were some things in life that he might never know but so long as there was a benign force that somehow looked after him as much as it would scold him, he should simply let things be. It started to cross his mind that this powerful sisterhood had adopted him and that its strength would nurture him. It dawned on him with some satisfaction that the likes of imperious men Sir Ian and Neil Houghton would strive to achieve their dreams of power all their lives and never even conceive that such a force might exist much less appreciate its full dimension. The experience of the last months, if not years, had instilled this knowledge in him through Helen's patient efforts and spreading outward from there. If he was one eyed, he was a king in the land of the blind apparatchiks.

"John, how nice it is to see you." "I just thought it was time for me to clear the air a bit"  
"Do you want a cup of tea"  
"I'd love one. Driving through London traffic doesn't get any easier and becomes insufferable on such a hot day"  
As John indulged in strained polite conversation, he was highly conscious that he was coming over as hideously inexpressive. This wasn't what he wanted to do. He surprised himself that the thought of changing the course of the conversation was speedily followed by action. He opted for the shortest, simplest approach with no verbal decorations. "You may have guessed that I didn't come round here to make polite conversation"  
"I gathered that," Karen said in a perfect imitation of John's dry tones.  
"Look here, I don't want to beat about the bush but…….. I wanted to say that I'm truly sorry for barging in and taking my fears for Jo out on you that time she took an overdose. You didn't deserve it. I've had time to think about it and I understand why you acted as you did to save Jo's life. It was definitely for the best. I was wrong and you were right"  
Karen blinked as John shot out the words with the speed of a projectile. John felt intensely uncomfortable as if he were an adolescent out on his first date and that he had spoken charming words that he had cribbed from a book or a friend. He felt as if he were an alien.  
"I think I heard what you said but would you kindly repeat it……...It's really important to both of us that I understand what you have to say"  
John blinked at Karen's first impersonal tones and nearly lost his nerve. When Karen softened her tones, it gave him the reassurance that he needed. He swallowed nervously and this time deployed some of his acquired verbal tricks of slow deliberate delivery of words and all the consciousness he had gained from his therapy sessions to get out the words without him sounding as if he were hurting. He felt the sentiments as he spoke the words. "You know that I too will occasionally go against my professional training if it is morally right to do so. It's just that in your profession, the balance of justice is so weighted that you are compelled to do it in order to stay human." Karen answered him deliberately as her large blue eyes stared straight into his soul. In another era, it would have made him feel uncomfortable and vulnerable but now it made him feel that she was there for him on a far more profound level than all the casual pick-ups in some anonymous hotel.  
"Besides, John, you make it into an art form. I am a beginner by comparison"  
Karen's smile and her husky tones might have aroused John's physical desire except that intense feelings of friendship and mutual understanding stood in the way. In her turn, Karen felt that she was being wordier than she wanted to be. She got up from her chair, crossed the space between them and gave him a big hug. "What I meant to say is that I would probably have done exactly the same in your position, John," she murmured into his shoulder. "You mean it, Karen"  
John felt Karen nod her head rather than heard her words. That was answer enough.

"I realize that I didn't get it clear in my head exactly what you did for Jo. I've no moral or legal right to ask this of you, but might I see a copy of the report on what you did to Jo. You know how the presentation of solid facts eases my mind. It is something that you are not a million miles away from you in your profession"  
Karen was touched by John's humility and her hearty warmed to accede to his wish.  
"But of course, John. You might find it rather technical. The report is at home so why not come with me and I'll cook you dinner"  
"I'd love that"  
Karen was his friend and he was going with no prior expectations or hidden agendas. What would be, would be. 

As they crossed the wing, they ran into the Julies who were armed with mops and buckets and they positively beamed at him as they waylaid him. Karen smiled tolerantly, knowing that over time, John had gained understanding of women in prison.  
"Why, judge, ain't we glad to see you around here. You should come here more often"  
"More often. We don't get any good looking fellas like you around here"  
John laughed appreciatively at the compliments and their harmless flirtation and felt that he was a welcome part of this perpetual cabaret show. "Hey judge," Denny's voice called out from the side of John's vision. It could only be Denny Blood with that huge grin on her face. "It's great to see you. You know that you're our favourite judge"  
"Thanks for the compliment, Denny"  
John could see by the frown on Denny's face that she was wrestling with herself whether to say something that was playing on her mind. John smiled to encourage her and at last she spoke. "Excuse me for saying it, judge, but you better watch out if you keep visiting or you'll become institutionalised"  
A general laugh echoed round the wing, John's laugh just that bit louder than Karen's. He could see that the delicious irony of Denny's immortal one liner would not go down well with his humourless enemies.  
"I'll never forget the way you looked after me when I was in the witness box at Lauren's trial. You're a real gent, don't let anyone say any different or they'll answer to me." John was touched by Denny's sentiments. He had conducted a lot of trials since Lauren Atkins' trial and the details had got a bit blurred. He must have done better than he knew for those details to be so razor sharp in her mind. At that moment, Tina strolled into view while Natalie scowled away in the background.  
"Have a cheese straw, judge. Special recipe what I got from an old mate of mine called Noreen"  
John's natural courtesy bade him pick one. It did taste good with a mature cheese base in the light texture. He chatted away contentedly with the women who clustered around him. This was another women's support group who had also adopted him. It made him feel humble and tears pricked his eyes. It was only when he remembered that Karen waited patiently on him that he was forced to make his polite exit.

When they arrived at Karen's flat, John placed himself entirely in Karen's hands. He knew himself well enough to feel safe in doing so and, after all, Karen was an old friend. Occasional disagreements and outright rows would never permanently disturb this balance. Karen immediately clicked on her laptop, searched her folders for the one word document that didn't fit into her carefully arranged categories, clicked print and the two page document whirred its way onto the table.  
"Take your time to look at this while I cook something for us. Now let me see, do you fancy macaroni cheese? I can cook it quickly enough." Karen enquired, taking charge of her surroundings. The choice jumped into her mind as it would provide John with excellent comfort food as well as being quick and easy. "That sounds fine by me. Can I help?" John asked politely enough "Well, since you've offered, you can grate 4 oz of cheese for me." Karen called out over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen.

I can't blame anyone taking me at my word on an offer of help, John reflected ruefully as he followed her. He remembered how he had studiously offered to be guided by Jo's good sense and friendship while all along, he had been maneuvering her into following the course of action he had wanted her to do in carrying out work for the benefit of Francesca Rochester of all people. This was a little bit of comeuppance.

He felt highly conscious of intruding into Karen's cooking space and found himself a distant corner of the kitchen to work in. He grated the cheese into a bowl and placed it wordlessly next to Karen before discreetly retiring to the living room. She nodded to acknowledge his contribution, while she effortlessly sieved plain flour into another saucepan and vigorously whisked in butter and milk to make her standard white sauce mix. With a flourish, she poured dry pasta into a saucepan to boil and gradually worked the cheese into the white sauce along with a sprinkling of salt and pepper. In expertly draining the pasta, she turned it into a serving bowl with the cheese sauce and grilled it to crisp the surface on top. Triumphantly, she served it on her dining table with green salad and a bottle of chilled Frascati straight out of the fridge.

John had started to read Karen's report and her deployment of the foreign language of medical terminology took him aback. The times recorded explained to him of the medical complexities of various tests that must have been taken. It was all an alien language to him. 

"……………Jo Mills initial GCS was ten, e3v1m6. There was an initial lack of verbal response due to emotional shock. She was seriously bradycardic, pulse 48 and there were some slight arrhythmias. A search revealed a bottle of 30 tablets of Temazepam, the prescription date dated the day before yesterday. An Intra-venous line was set up and 2 syringes of Apomorphine to induce vomiting were administered while the heart rate was carefully monitored……... GCS9, E2V1M6, pulse rate maintained at 48 …..After 2MG's of Atropine were administered intravenously the pulse rate increased to 78…..…….Jo Mills regained consciousness ………As Jo Mills skin felt cold and clammy, GCS reduced to 8, E2, V2 and M4, and pulse 130, 2 half litre bags of fluid were administered, fifteen minutes apart…….. Finally she regained full consciousness and her condition stabilized sufficiently …… a blood sample was taken for LFT's and Creatinine levels…"

He had never considered that Karen had that depth of medical knowledge. He gathered what he could understand from it and lay back with pleasure to receive Karen's practical care.

"It might sound a very stupid question as my knowledge of medical matters is very limited indeed but was there a point when you became seriously worried about coping with the situation"  
"You might say that again, when Jo's pulse suddenly shot up like a rocket and I couldn't understand what the hell had gone on. Dr Waugh, God bless him reminded me that Jo was simply dehydrated from the alcohol she had taken and having vomited up the contents of her stomach." Karen exclaimed, pulling a face as she drank a generous measure of her glass of wine. "A foolish question to have asked. I am sorry"  
Karen smiled slightly and leaned over the table to gently stroke his face. She had had head to head arguments with this proud, highly intelligent man but she had never seen the man apologise so much in one day. It humanized him.  
"Now you know what it is to be the layman, John"  
"True, very true. It has been an eye opener." John conceded gracefully before returning to take another mouthful of Karen's excellent macaroni cheese. "Jo went to see Ric Griffin recently on Ric's request and she had been extremely lucky. There is no long term damage but she has been strictly warned that she should under no circumstances drink alcohol ever again," Karen added in conversational tones.  
"As drastic as that?" John enquired, raising his eyebrows. The realms of permanent liver damage had been a closed book to him. The assumption of free choice when to drink and when not to seemed pretty fundamental, even to someone who was relatively temperate in a profession noted for the periodic alcohol lubricated socialising of the brethren. "This reinforces the feelings that I have come to consider that there is a lot that I haven't known, both about myself and the world about me"  
"So did these revelations take place of their own accord, John. I am impressed"  
"I can't lay claim for all the credit, Karen. If you must know, I've been having professional therapy this last year. For once in my life, I have stuck to it no matter how hard the going has been"  
Karen's mouth opened wide. She had thought that she knew pretty well what went on in the lives of her friends but John had kept this one very dark from her. "So who is this remarkable person? I don't suppose I would know him, psychologists not being in my field of acquaintances"  
"She is certainly remarkable and very persistent, I can assure you"  
"You haven't answered my question, John. I did ask you if I know her." Karen teased him.  
"Haven't I?" John responded vaguely. "It so happens that you do know her"  
A light bulb switched itself on in Karen's mind. Very smart, John Deed. As I might have predicted, you pick a female psychologist and you choose the one therapist who you know that you will never get to sleep with when it gets awkward. You really were serious when you started your therapy.  
"Let's cut to the chase, John. The only possible candidate is Helen, Helen Wade. Am I not right"  
John sheepishly nodded. There was no point in verbal fencing. What point was there in playing games and what would it achieve? "Well, you certainly picked yourself a tough one but someone who I know really cares about you. She was putting herself a bit on the line in knowing you previously and in having some common history"  
"So it proved." "So what did you get out of it?  
John's mind flashed back over what seemed like years of conversations.  
"I finally realised what damage my mother's death did to me, in being fearful of emotional commitment and how brilliantly I misused my grasp of the English language to blind myself with words. I got to see what should have been blindingly obvious, that the highly moral, upright virtuous man struggling for justice was anything but in my private life. My nice neat compartmentalisations were shown to be irrational and totally dysfunctional. It wasn't all down to me and I learned that there are other imperfect human beings out there with their own internal demons and I simply cannot shoulder their guilt but try to help them as best as I can"  
Both Karen and John knew that he was referring to Jo's alcoholism and that her life was not as perfect as George believed her, the George Channing who had been tortured by her own lack of normal maternal feeling, the same George that Karen had loved and who was still her friend. "………I have known that I must treasure the good people I have come across but I never knew that I had been adopted by the formidable women's support group, both inside and outside prison. I know that I am grateful even though they can become fierce critics. They don't miss anything"  
Karen grinned at the earlier memories. To her mind, Nikki and Denny clasped hands together.  
"I have done some good in this public world and some harm to women in my private life." Added John in a choked voice.  
"You can't blame yourself for everything, John," Karen added in soothing tones, laying her hand on his shoulder. "Barbara Mills has walked free and you have given her life back which another judge would have deprived her of"  
"That's true," John added reflectively." I had forgotten that"  
A companionable silence descended on the flat as fitting two old friends who didn't have to fill the spaces with meaningless words for the sake of it.

"So what of your life, Karen." John enquired as he finished the last morsel off his plate and finished his glass of wine.  
"I get by, John." Karen replied, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. It disturbed John a little as she had assumed a little too much of his own nonchalant manner for her good. Then maybe he was wrong about that. "I have enough to occupy me and I can't see myself exactly being tied down in a relationship"  
John held his tongue. Who was he to judge her? After all, if it hadn't been for Karen and what they'd done together at that conference back in October, he would never have started therapy, and if he hadn't begun having therapy, where would he, where would any of them be today?

The End 


End file.
